Night falls on the outskirts of the big city. Garbage and dust get carried through narrow streets. No friendly encounters, no familiar faces. You feel a strange melancholia looming around every other corner. Not a single TV screen from the darkened apartments on the roadside illuminates your path. Your phone’s battery has died a long time ago. Dizzy and cold, you roam through these suburban streets without a distinct purpose. The place you used to live in has turned into one outlandish array of dead electronics, black mirrors gleaming back at you from the darkness. Then, suddenly, close to the dead end of your aimless wander, a noise permeates the stifling silence; hollow, menacing, poignant. Machine music.