Neon Hourglass Circuit

The hourglass glows like frozen lightning, its grains replaced by cascading nano-lattices tumbling in endless cycles. Outside, the avenues hum, girdled in iridescent panels and alive with hovering drones that twitch like wasps tasting voltage. Gloved fingers trace etched symbols on steel railings; the promise of self-replicating upgrades murmurs from every cantilevered balcony. Change here isn’t whispered—it roars behind the neon WHERE VOJTA? signs, those tireless refrains looping like temples bells, binding each glance to the same unanswered query. A man in a suit chews at doubt, jaw taut, while across from him, another flaunts bare skin inked with spirals, embodying the city’s hunger for reinvention. “Time’s folding either way,” someone mutters above—a warning or benediction, depending on what’s been lost. And we know, with the surety of polished chrome under fingertip, that Vojta still slips beyond this lattice of glass and glow, as elusive as the last grain refusing gravity’s pull.