The thing that unsettles me is that nobody is trying to save the man outside. They can all see him being swallowed by a storm of leaves, dust and urgency while he clings to a mobile phone call that seems desperately important. Yet nobody moves. Including me. That’s what makes it feel like a dream. The dark joke is that the call is probably no more important than most of the things we spend our lives worrying about.
I feel like an observer watching a strange modern ritual play out. But the more I look at it, the less certain I am that the people inside are any wiser. The glass offers a comforting illusion of safety, yet one good hailstorm could turn the entire structure into a deadly trap. Maybe that’s the point. The man outside and the people inside are both putting their faith in fragile systems. One trusts the phone call. The other trusts the glass. Neither seems to notice how temporary their protection really is.
Andy C Marshall 