Nobody remembers
when the signal started.
Some say it’s been humming since before the building existed. Others say it’s just an old shack full of obsolete gear and questionable wiring.
Both explanations are probably correct.
Inside, a taped cassette clicks on. A synth hums without power. The photographs don’t agree on the year.
Funny thing about this place: people keep finding memories they don’t remember losing.
We’ve been collecting them.
Fragments, transmissions, half-finished things. Not to solve them, just to keep them alive.
AN UNDATED OBSERVATION
There’s a door at the back of the shack.
It wasn’t there yesterday.
Someone wrote your name on it.