The world is dark around the edges, after-hours quiet. Watari pokes hopefully at a beaker of sky-tinted chemicals. No change. He adjusts the radio, challenging Meifu�s silence.
...two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl
Year after year...
He knows this one. 1975, he thinks. He was alive, then. But there�s no use existing in the past. The song resonates, filling the lab, the halls, the offices empty of people. The building�s only other occupant is several corridors and too many years away. Unimaginably distant.
The noise will annoy him, disturb his memories. Watari sings along anyway.
�Wish you were here.�
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