Three pawns stand around my character with admiration.
“How can we serve you Arisen?”
My quest log scrolls with replaceable conversations and creatures to kill
The map stretches with kingdoms and caves to exhaust of button cycles
Nameless digital bodies produce cries for help
How can we serve you Arisen?
I buy tickets for the Zephyr line in preparation to move
Many names which used to appear in my phone have faded away
Me and my partner haven’t spoken for two months
I sit at my dining table, wondering why I repeat these cycles
How can we serve you Arisen?
