West Repeater: I always look pale over the city in fog or inversion, or so I'm told.
East Repeater: Its been a long Autumn between you and I, and yes, the inversion suits you, but now is something different. Something's changed. Perhaps its just the wind making the scrub oak quiver at your base.
West: Yes, well the wind makes me quiver more than the scrub oak. Shake more like it.
East: The gusts hit you first, then me. I can tell that from the microwaves we share at the speed of light.
West: Those are vastly different timescales. From storm to storm and day to night we see it all very slowly, yet we reflect transmissions in an instant.
East: Yeah, the signature of the wind rides on that carrier wave.
West: Nice to know about that. I always wondered what that was. My paint is peeling. The taggers have not made it up here in a while. Graffiti is a dead art form.
East: You don't look bad to me, just a little paler, probably just the light of morning, or the lack of taggers. I don't know. But the taggers don't know about the carrier wave for the wind. You reflect that back to me only.
West: Yes it has been a long Autumn, and we repeat everything that reflects on us. Me, you, the taggers, and the scrub oak.
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