In a world made of mirrors, everything looks like you. Everywhere it is your face; in every angle you are the center. A mammoth line of potential yous stretch out like all the possible worlds that could ever exist. But you all blink at the same time. This ancient hallway is really only a tiny room. The endless corridor is a solid trap. Just ahead there is a vast world you can look upon but never touch. When you try, there is your own hand. And there it is again, continually pressing you back, making you view it all through a tomb that only looks like infinity. And when you blink, they all blink at the same time.

It’s a very special exhibit,  a very special experience. The way is paved for you, and all you have to do is step inside. What you see is what others see.

A faint noise might be something else, somewhere else. But it is lost in the view. For how can you look away when you are always at your own eyes? Is there room for anything else? Will there be any room allowed for anything else? There is only a door that doesn’t open—a hinge that cannot be seen.