Needing office space for the BBG technodungeon, I cleared the basement of my recently-bought Victorian house. Taking a steel brush to the walls soon caused a chunk of ancient mortar to topple off. Underneath, a brick sat, unanchored, in its space. This is what lay behind it:
A bottle! Unfortunately crushed by the weight – literally – of decades of time.
It's easy imagine the former occupant of this place working slavishly on whatever he or she worked on, locked for long hours in this dark cellar, occasionally taking a remedial swig from the stash. Is this my destiny? I shall nip misery and despair in the bud right now, and promise myself never to review an off-brand cellphone ever again.