the unreliable object
It was grounded by a stone slab, obviously pored over by the planners because it had swirls of such a particular hue of pink running through it. The object was reflected in the mirrored glass sheet of the façade. A façade made to look authoritative by its immaculate and expensive join with the stone of the pavement all the way round the parameter of the building. It looked like it was really there, this interobject. It looked like a coffee machine from one of those places, a bit steam punk, you know? It looked like one of those but crossed almost exactly with a Henry Moore sculpture which seemed to be both behind and infront simulchuously. Stuff was exchanged, small stuff, but continuously, the ligatures used to hold and move the small things along channels in a network. The stuff mulched and then formed a new larger thing. Door opens, a thing begins, then it stops, a small lever is pulled, paper wrapping occurs, followed by a long noise. The pointed leaves of the house plant rising to meet the televised needle fish above, silver and green, a small switch under the counter releases balloons onto a crowd.