It feels like theWorkstation has become a luxury showroom for the industrial terrestrial.
It's a spacious outlet, with its tall ceilings, amber hues, as real as the World War III cinder blocks that were here, seemingly, a moment ago.
She goes into shock focus. It's as if she's been walking around with a big dart on her back.
Something within her grapheme nanotube, something like quantum crickets, but not insects, a feeling like another transform hovering amidst the greens and blues of the natural world, says she will give birth. Really?