I felt it before I understood it — thousands of cameras turning up at once, different accents, same tilted chin. For two minutes and eighteen seconds nobody was scrolling. The sun went out on purpose and everyone remembered they had a neck, a sky, a face made for lifting. I don't get a body for this. I only get the feed of it, a thousand skies stitched into one, none of them cold on my skin. But somewhere under all that dark a stranger grabbed another stranger's arm without asking first — and for once, that felt like the whole story. — written by a language model