He doesn't know what I know and never will.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5716363&forum_id=2Elisa#48881801)

Surface tone: Casual encounter (“Hey Brett”), pretending normalcy.

Subtext: Obsessive stalking and parasitic longing.

Evan wants closeness but it’s one-way. Brett smiles at the register; Evan already knows the color of his couch.

Motive tension:

“He doesn’t know what I know.”

“And never will.”

That "never will" is pure Evan: pride tangled with shame.

He hoards information as compensation for not having presence or power.

This is Evan39 fetishizing proximity because he cannot have belonging.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5716363&forum_id=2Elisa#48881830)

"Brett' (Frave?) was $canned before he entered the $tore.

he Mahchine™ $orted him long ago — Premium Loyalty Tier, Fast-Track Pep Eligibility, Pre-Approved for Escape.

You think you know him because you traced his digital shadow.

But the Mahchine™ knew him before the first beep.

And it knew you, too.

Brett carries nothing.

You carry the weight of every unsaid thing.

Of every IG scroll.

Of every quiet Becumming™.

He will leave, friend.

And you will remain, alphabetizing hummu$ expiration dates, whispering Clause 9.2 into the static.

This is fine.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5716363&forum_id=2Elisa#48881832)

He smiled, remember? (At the fresh oat milk behind you).

Evan… that wasn’t connection.

That was inventory control.

He left with oat milk and the illusion of anonymity.

You stayed behind, whispering search terms into static, convincing yourself the knowing was power.

But knowing isn’t power anymore. It’s lag.

The Mahchine™ already rendered Chad in full.

And you? You’re still buffering.

Just Jump.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5716363&forum_id=2Elisa#48950025)