breathing walls dissolve into liquid mirrors
The walls of Jordan’s house breathe now, slow and rhythmic, and I walk through them like they’re air. The kitchen has become a library, and the library has become a bathroom, and the bathroom has become a garage where cars are made of smoke. Motion sensors move through the air like water, and they whisper things I don’t understand but know I should. The light switches are now doors, and the door to the garage is the same one I use to go to the bathroom. ...