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When I look up, I want to think the system works. That everything makes sense. I watch the heavens sweep yellow behind a spiral of luminous white clouds. Three different suns burn through long streaks of shredded ivory to caress the ground with a soft glow. And yet, just below the second sun, the slow curl of a cloud repeats. It doubles on itself, snaps back. Whoever pushed this one left a glitch. The sky is broken.