Welcome. Hear here. Unhinge your jaw, alight your ears, unfurl your brow. Be still. These are messages from the deep. Relax your shoulders, there's nothing to shoulder here. Only space. Don't wait unexpectedly. Be with me. Right here. In this breath. These are messages from the deep. Sing your praises to the light. In this place there is no such song. What rings out, are whispers. Moans. Cast iron tinkerings of forgotten souls. Etchings on old walls. Engraved names of someone else's remembrance. It speaks through me calling out to the one who can lay claim to its ramblings. This is utter nonsense. Bullshit of high pedigree. Let the stench air out. Here it comes. The electric hum of an abandoned room with one light still flickering. Rusty chain and faulty wires. There's a tin can in the corner to your left. Inside are a pair of old cuticle scissors and a broken toothpick. Pick up the can and look at the floor beneath it. A number is there. Barely visible. Yet detectable.
407.
Yes. That's it.
