Automate operation millimetric dirty misadjustment damaged machinery control gray dark brown plans faults attempts underground pixels earth frustration artificial night you stable
Peace and rain, smell of wet asphalt.
Job memories. Sharp sounds cut the scene, walking in zigzag, cutting thought quickly, lights appear inside tunnels, uncertainty when a sound remains while others go, leaving you waiting without knowing what will be waiting.
The black conductor wire and the weight of the iron doors opening, at the first almost impossible to move it, slowing thought and exhausting energy. Everything is gray, until the movement that seemed complicated becomes a routine, the activity is repeated lesser, less heavy, to fulfill its role and reach the objective. Now you are inside.
Voices without bodies that speak without transmitting messages, just the feeling that you are part of this, reminding you that there are still humans who move the machines. Although, sometimes, the meat, the bones and the brain seem to be united to the gray, impersonal, metallic and cold ritual.
Sounds that include you in the mechanical process, that move through the space with accuracy in movement, drawing lines and right angle, that only sometimes touch you, to finish and take you to the next stadium.
The rain and a conversation turn you back to the now, leaving you truce and margin to continue tomorrow.
