THE SCREEAL OF THE FAN BELT

Dear Delyara, It is 1:05 AM, and the ventilation unit on the roof of the main depot has developed a loose fan belt. Every few seconds, it lets out a high, piercing shriek that cuts straight through the damp night air like a jagged blade. I’m trying to draft the privacy policy layout for our user database on a small notepad, but the erratic noise keeps fracturing my concentration. Out here, you are entirely at the mercy of these mechanical breakdowns. The environment is loud, indifferent, and completely industrial—a massive contrast to the silent, premium galleries I want to house our artifacts in. I pulled my collar up, pressed my palms against my ears, and forced my eyes back onto the paper.