"Where are you?" she whispered, though I was right in front of her.
It began as a glitch in the periphery. A shimmer, no larger than a coin, hovering in the dead center of my living room. But within a week, it had grown to the size of a doorway. They called it the Portal 360 —not because it was a circle, but because it saw everything. portal 360
The government called it a surveillance nightmare. The philosophers called it the death of the self. I called it the answer. "Where are you
360 degrees of time.
You are already standing in the center of a sphere you cannot see. "Where are you?" she whispered