Outside the maze the city continued with its usual indifference: buses hissed by, someone played a tinny trumpet, a café steamed milk into the evening. Inside the maze, time felt elastic. An hour could be a pilgrimage, a stanza, the stretch between problem and solution. Visitors emerged transformed not by spectacle but by orientation. One woman said she’d never seen the park this way—its ordinary trees now relics—while a teenage boy shrugged and admitted that he’d liked being allowed to wander without his phone telling him where to go.
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