Tick-tock goes the clock of consumption; every worker knows it well. Time itself seems to matter only to those who have the space to consider it.

I sat in a derelict office block, opposite Selfridges on Oxford Street, reflecting on the countless journeys traced by feet that passed the hidden doorway to this forgotten space at ground level.

Bound only by walls, I bore witness to time, and pondered a freedom purchased not with money but through the community I’d found, searching for meaning in making. Block Universe: past, present, and future layered together, all equally real, like frames aligned on a completed film reel.