Far from the imaginable, lies a little bay of solace and indifference. The population is infinite; the classes are indistinct; the food is utilitarian. There are no roads because there is no land. Only gentle touches from above scratch the surface of the undulating carpet of blue. Small bubbles rise, breach, and pop. Their source unbeknownst to us, but known to their producer. The production of which is neither intentional nor random. Still, the belief that there is more outside of the bay is broadcast from shore to shore.