for reasons no one can remember, the robots fashion their own purple top hats from nearby debris. the storytellers are gone but the hat remembers.

Each hat, patched together from scraps of metal and fabric, tells a story. Though the robots lack voices, the hats whisper fragments of the past when the wind flows through them. A melody of lost civilizations hums faintly, stories of hope, despair, triumph, and failure swirling in the air. The hats become symbols, not just of individuality among the robots, but of a collective memory long buried.

husband, father of two sexy girls, crypto community manager, bizniz owner and opinionated conservative. jesus guns girls america 🇺🇸

@wake.bsky.social

Photon Wrangler, Raconteur.
Sharing art, memes, and quality shitcasts. /design-pieces

our collective hopes are hidden amongst the felt patchwork and stitching