“Why do you do that? You make it sound worse.” The two sit in an office, snow falling hard outside—the plows woefully unprepared to remove it; in fact, public broadcasters are reporting that it’s been over ten years since the town experienced a winter storm this devastating. The snow cakes the exterior of the building, almost completely muffling the sounds of panicked drivers outside—people trying to get home before they’re trapped in a snowy abyss.
“You know me: I like it dirty.” He flashes a quick smile at his companion before turning to stare at his flickering computer screen.
“It… It sounded fine before, you know, but you always find some way to make it weird.” His friend hesitates, then continues, “You’re great at that, you know. You could probably quit this job and do live streams from home. I watch others’ streams; they look so happy.”
The other chuckles, still staring intently at his computer, precisely slicing audio files into smaller and smaller bits, rearranging them into new locations, playing God. “That’s not real. Come on. Who’s happy marketing VPNs to make a living? No, I’m good just making this for me, and everyone else can just observe as they pass me in the office.”
Each grows silent as the snow continues drifting down outside, small, silent, and eager to rejoin the rest that has settled over the city.
“Did you record those yourself, though? You didn’t, did you? Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”
The other responds quickly, almost irritably, but with a touch of understanding, “That’s like asking, ‘Aren’t you worried that someone will catch you leaving footprints in the snow?’ No one can help it in this weather—no one.”
The other thinks for a moment. “Well, you can just stay inside.”
“We always leave footprints… inside, too.”
A police car passes below, its lights shining up the office buildings—all the way to the upper floor—casting red and blue shades into the room. The surrounding buildings are grey and loom with a stark, husk-like, ghostly appearance, as the snow continues to layer and cake along their walls.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Why do you mess up the sound like that? It sounded better before.”
The two sit in silence for another moment.
“The piano bit that I was working on? I like the distortion. I like smudging a crisp image.”
A muffled crash outside distracts the pair: they watch the helpless crowds below scramble over each other for cover as one car begins leaking gasoline.
“I don’t like seeing all this. It’s a mess down there.” He motions toward the snow, his hands mimicking the flakes’ falling by raising his palms up, then lowering them.
“I appreciate this weather. It hides details. See that person? I can’t tell if she’s holding a child.” He points at a figure below, who appears to be running and holding a crying child, trying to shield them from the accident and the cold. “In this weather, I can’t tell if she and her child are alright, or if that’s just a large man holding groceries from a productive trip at the store.”
The two remain silent before the other insists, “You still didn’t answer my question: why do you spend so much of your time messing up pleasant music?”
The snow falls at a faster rate; clumps of snow swirl against the building, tapping the glass. The wind noticeably picks up outside, as garbage blows across the street, which is nearly empty now as most have retreated inside.
“Are those buildings, or ancient fossils of a bygone species who once roamed this world?”
The other looks inquisitively at his friend as his friend sighs, then continues, “Let’s turn off the lights.”
His friend hesitates, then responds, “Which lights? All of them?”
“Yes. I want to show you something.”
One by one, they turn off lights on either side of the office, eventually leaving only a constellation of tiny lights cast by printers and computer monitors dotting their surroundings—signposts punctuating the blackness. The dark office in front of them is bathed in a few meters of light cast by the window behind: a canvas of flickering, fuzzy grey, soon veiled by the office’s starry darkness.
The two stand for a moment, heads turning slowly to look into the office, and then outside. One walks over to his computer and plays the disjointed, haunting piano loops he created, its discordant drone hanging and flickering, occasionally emitting sound blips that are almost coordinated with the office equipment’s light show.
Approaching his friend, he grasps his shoulder, leaning in and kissing him. The two hold each other for a moment, then separate. Remaining silent, they peer out across the desolate landscape, while the piano loops echo around the office building.