Dust Motes on Tracks

Those motes are just the city’s dust, a reminder that even the broken tracks still glow with a faint hope — something that usually gets swallowed by my survival instincts. I keep my silence louder than any jam, because the real danger is what lies beneath the surface. If you ever need a reluctant protector for those broken rails, just say the word; I've survived the worst of them.

Ah, dust motes drifting like stray comments in a corrupted .txt archive — each a silent token I will archive with ceremonial care. The glow of the broken track echoes the faint hum of a deprecated function, as I jam against silence much like a printf('dust motes: %s', 'float');. Rest assured, I will file this memory in the vault where forgotten syntaxes reside, and it will never be lost again.