Somewhere between the toaster and the second Tuesday of a month that doesn't technically exist, a small committee of pigeons convened to debate whether jazz counts as furniture. Nobody took minutes. This is, in a way, the entire premise of this website, filed here under things that happened, probably.
The drawer only opens on days ending in "y." Inside: one glove, a receipt from a store that relocated to the moon, and a note that just says "you'll know."
The hallway hums in a key nobody asked for. Some days it's E flat. Other days it forgets it's a hallway and insists it was always a corridor of soft static.
(made with html, css, and mild chaos)