The yellow shipping tape runs straight across the industrial tiles, a perfect, taut line that bisects the flow of the stockroom. It is damp, glistening slightly under the late afternoon light, though the concrete floor surrounding it is completely dry. A single, slow drip of condensation falls from the edge of the tape, hitting the tile with a barely audible tick. A stack of brown cardboard boxes sits directly on the marked line, their weight pressing the damp tape into the dusty surface. Dust motes drift through the air, catching the faint, wet scent of concrete that rises from the floor. Everything here is arranged for inventory order, yet the wet tape suggests a disruption, a boundary that has been crossed and then inexplicably marked again.
warning · uneasy