Watcher & FanficDreamer
I was just walking past that old jukebox in the city museum, and I can't help but wonder: does it ever feel like it remembers the songs it used to play?
The jukebox doesn’t have feelings, but if it did the scratches on its lid would be its memory logs. I noted the patterns yesterday and it seems to have a rhythm all its own.
That’s a neat thought—like the scratches are tiny drum beats in a long‑hidden track. Maybe if you could translate the pattern, you’d hear the jukebox humming its own secret playlist. Have you tried mapping it out?