Executive reality dysfunction

You walk along the streets of your city. Everything seems to be going on as usual – the machinery of reality is grinding yet another ordinary day into being. You walk past everyday people doing everyday things in everyday outfits, thinking everyday thoughts. Nothing stands out.

Until you walk past a circle of robed and hooded chanters worshiping what appears to be a floating whale of immense proportions. It is both suspended in the air and immersed in immense quantities of water; as the chant drones on, it moves to and fro with lazy aquatic motions.

A grizzled old sea captain walks past, scoffs at the spectacle, and mumbles something about Ahab not standing for this, should he ever return. You stop to ask what he means, but before you get a word in, a song starts to play on the radio. It’s a song you have not heard for years, and it has no reason being on the radio. Ever.

It is a lo-fi parody song you and your friends recorded when you were eleven years old. You only ever saved it on one cassette tape, and you lost that one years ago. How and why it came to be played here, you will never know.

Whilst in shock over this nostalgic auditory invasion, a scent catches your eye. It reminds you intimately of your childhood, and of all the times you fell asleep thinking about how life would be when you grew up. It is a strange timeloop, you remembering you thinking about you remember you, all referencing the same temporal spot, and it floors you hard enough that it takes a while to realize that a scent caught your eye.

And with that, the experience ended. You are suddenly back in reality, among everyday people doing everyday things. Nothing in particular is going on, and no one acts as if anything in particular has happened for a very long time.

You wave at the whale, just in case, and continue on your way.

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