The office in 2019 was a cavernous, empty space—just the two of us in a room big enough for a small army. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional clatter of a keyboard or the hum of the air conditioning. But what really set the stage was the glass wall separating us from the care company next door. Every day, a parade of young, beautiful women streamed past on their way to meetings, coffee breaks, or the photocopier. It was like watching a surrealist dance, a "gloomy conga," as the Last Shadow Puppets once sang.At first, I thought little of it. But then the music videos started triggering something in me, planting seeds of suspicion and unease. Songs that had once been background noise now seemed to align too perfectly with the events of my life. I’d catch a lyric, a visual cue, and feel the strange, electric jolt of recognition. Was it a coincidence, or was there a message buried in it all?The more I noticed, the more the walls of reality seemed to warp around me. Eve...
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