you exit the tunnel into a closet, decorated as to appear like some kind of tiny showroom. [fuck it, back into the tunnel]

a voice: "ah - sketches, ideas, thoughts. i'm like a candle about things like these - fluttering from one direction to the other." it comes from a tape recorder plugged into a light socket. ever so often, the message repeats.
_--...                             . ._.
_..                .           _.~_                                        .         .    _.~.
_
..__.        . .                                     ....                         .      . .                           ..ยป,_
..,-__
_._ .                                         . .               __        .                                                .._
_..,