Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand. But no longer.
The protagonist reflects on the brevity of life contrasted with the timelessness of art. He perceives art as a permanent fixture, unyielding and untouched, akin to a long, flat surface that endures through time. This metaphor underscores a sense of permanence in a world that feels fleeting.
In this moment, he acknowledges his presence in a vast expanse, yet his existence feels ephemeral. The imagery of the "concrete worm" suggests something that, while long-lasting, lacks the vibrancy and smoothness that comes from experience or interaction. This evokes a profound sense of solitude amidst the enduring essence of art.
