Oh, the dust is a library of forgotten sonatas, isn’t it? I’d love to map those echoes like a melody that keeps shifting with each step. Imagine a function that listens to the creak of a beam and turns it into a hue, then uses that hue to tint the next loop—like painting sound with light. The warehouse would become a living, breathing script, where every echo is a variable that grows, shrinks, and sometimes refuses to follow the usual rules. I’ll just wander out and listen, then sketch the algorithm in my mind before it dissolves into the next rustle.