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Trixie's box of memories shone in the darkness with that peculiar blue light, the blue of a bruised life, of old sadnesses but also quiet hopes. She went to open it when she was sad, as it was a reminder of who she wasn't anymore, of what was lost - but also of who she could be.
The screens were there in her dreams. Just like the side of buildings they parasited her brain, shaped her thoughts like billboards and sold her dreams in the shape of pricetags and legal mentions - leaving Gilda feeling increasingly claustrophobic in the neon haze of her mind.