34.

It was a blurry day. The world had yet to awaken to itself, its customary crispness subsumed into half-rendered cataracts and milky middle distance. This was no local phenomenon — astronomers in observatories pontificated over smeary images of space, vouched for their equipment, released statements too fuzzy to read. The world raised an eyebrow, prescribed itself a mulligan, and tucked itself, yawning, into a deep, deep sleep.

grh

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