The hour grows into a long time for a gnat or a person counting the seconds from one outbreak of hunger to the next. A few dead bolts on fire doors may not have purposes other than shielding a child from burning shame or frozen hope.
It turns out intentional ignorance almost feels like belief. New information will be autonomously deflected by identity trying to survive. It’s identity that talks over 90% of the film.
A person heavily invested in identity may always want to be seen. At the extreme, the door will be locked and the question instantly asked, Are you one of us?
The vast experiment of the cells makes us related. Day climbs out of the future underground history near a few billion hammers pounding in the massive coliseum of ideas.
The sky inhales what memory sews into what never happened rocking on its wild galactic wave where old-growth trees vote in absentia. The day culls over smoothed bones that kept time from the root of what hopes in the cells.