Gг©nг©rique

He realized then that they weren't living in a world; they were living in a draft. They were the placeholders, the "Insert Character Here" of a story that hadn't been written yet.

His wife gasped, pulling back as if he were holding a live coal. "Where did you get that? It’s... it’s specific." GГ©nГ©rique

"The details," he said, gesturing to the smooth, featureless walls. "The scratches on the floor. The logos on the milk carton. The names of the streets. Everything here is just... a category." He realized then that they weren't living in