Gг©nг©rique

His wife looked up. Her face was symmetrical and pleasant, the kind of face you forget the moment you turn away. "The real what, Elias?"

The sky over the city was a flat, unrendered gray. There were no clouds, only the suggestion of them. In the city of Générique, every building was a perfect, windowless cube of brushed concrete. Every car was a matte-silver sedan with no brand name on the grill. 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." His wife looked up

His wife gasped, pulling back as if he were holding a live coal. "Where did you get that? It’s... it’s specific." There were no clouds, only the suggestion of them

That night, Elias didn't sleep. He watched the digital clock on the bedside table. It didn't tick; it simply changed from to 02:01 in a sterile glow.