As Mark made his way home, the usual silence of the afternoon was shattered by a distant rumbling. By the time he got home, the sun had been swallowed whole by thick, impenetrable clouds.
Earlier, as he was scraping through the dusty local library shelves that bore the term “postmodernism”, he found a tome that seemed to glow otherworldly, its title covered in dark stains that only left the word “hauntology” readable. The moment he opened it, a gust of wind swept through the room that activated the radio on his shelve he thought broken, and made it play a perverted melody of twisting sounds that blended styles of decades long forgotten. His blood froze as he heard futuristic becoming retro and the retro starting to sound like distant futures. He turned it off as quickly as possible, telling himself it was less real than the faux-victorian-horror-style this text was generated in.