A Dream -- Saturday 29 August

I'm dancing with Archimedes on a moonlit cobblestone street, his ginger fur aglow like the stars above. Shadows of vintage hats sway gently from pigeons watching us, their coos resonating as radio static. I hear David Finkelstein's voice echoing through time, whispering about unidirectional perfection under Schwarzschild's gaze. Stardust swirls around us, piano keys in midnight's heart, treating me to a rhythm I never knew.