fast forward along the humming no-time of wiped dvtape–
–into her body. sunlight. waves breaking. sounds of a sea without an origin.
platform. letters spray painted and the smell of rusting
metal...
–and the smell of rusting metal.
looking through the pixelated haze of her eyes (realizing, this woman doesn't know me yet; it's before my time) at the rusting mammoth structure, protruding there in the middle of nowhere, with seagulls circling around endlessly–
–and static replaces her residual projection, wipes it clean and gray.
waves of white sound break around a platform that isn't there.
...and the transmission ends.