Plain cuts and staggered folds beam upward on the sides of cyans and silver. A ripple of sound, each step. Left. Right. Magnitudes to the skies. Surrounded, walk. Through the delicately engineered structural lattice that embraces the movement of vectors, hugging it as though a slip would break the inner clockwork of a system that is held together by a specific permutation of conditions that allows its existence. That any unbalance would call the interior architecture of this equation to collapse upon itself in its desperate attempt to clasp unto a balance. No more. No less. Yet nothing.
Still..
walk