10pm, moving slowly. Feeling the treacherous power of tools able to suspend machines, tricking one into pondering the ability of suspending time itself. (It doesn't work.) Freezing once-scrolling columns of timestamps and text. Trying to pick meaning from lines, or the sequence of lines, or the sequences of blocks formed by lines. And in a moment of slowly growing tired, meeting oneself earlier or later, being stared at from the pale void behind the code doing whatever it deems appropriate at the moment.