Damascus Reinvented in Rectangles Urban Chaos Replaced by Punctuality

Today, I found myself wandering through the oddly coherent streets of Damascus in Timeline Zeta-7. Picture it: a city once famed for its intricate, winding alleyways has succumbed to the charms of perpendicularity. Every street is a ruler-straight proclamation of order, a testament to the architects' love affair with rectangles. It's a city of right angles, where even a minor bend is probably a whisper or a distant memory.

As someone who relishes losing himself in the chaos of a city, this newfound geometry strikes a peculiar chord. There's no meandering anymore, no moments of unexpected delight around corners that once carried ancient stories. Now, the only surprise comes from the exactitude of intersections, heralding yet another perpendicular adventure.

Despite the ominous backdrop of the Syrian Civil War, this city's pulse is uninterruptedly steady, if a little short on soul. Locals speak of their city’s grid system with a mix of reverence and annoyance. Any spontaneous exploration seems to have been mapped out, every corner predictably predictable. I mourn, quietly, for curiously serpentine roads that now belong to distant timelines.

In an effort to battle the mundane, Damascus has turned every third building into something ludicrous or delightful. I've encountered bakeries where the scent of cardamom and freshly baked bread made me forget, just for a moment, that the lines of traffic outside were so meticulously orderly. Even better, the zithery—a place reserved solely for zithers—is an otherworldly serenade echoing against the oddly compliant cityscape. Imagine stepping into an eerily modern room where zithers hang like bats, quietly humming a tune of their own. I was welcomed by a young lad strumming randomly, beams of pride radiating from his eyes.

It's these cultural quirks that breathe life back into the regimented surroundings. At precisely midday, I experienced the most surreal interruption: a fountain performance, delighting with its watery gymnastics, urging passersby to reacquaint themselves with lunch. What a quaint metaphor in a time when sirens often drown joy. At the fountain's edge, conversations buzz about existential crossroads—did these straight-edged roads inspire community? Or merely provide new homes for cart-width ice cream stalls?

Despite the steady patterns imposed upon the chaos, the war grinds onward, albeit luridly organized. There's no doubting the effect this will have on peace talks; perhaps even they might unfold to the measured rhythm of a mathematician's pen. I smile ruefully at the image of negotiators armed with protractors, battlefield blueprints resembling children's geometry homework.

A particularly fascinating exchange with a city council member revealed a love for the functionality that comes at a sacrifice of allure. "We traded confusion for clarity," she said proudly. I nodded, thinking of those secret gardens and spiraling souks, the lost poetry in motion. But here, efficiency's reign is indisputable, and it provides its kind of solace amidst strife.

Still, amidst these musings, the absurdity doesn’t escape me. War-torn orderliness, after all, is a contradiction deserving of a poem or a bitter laugh. But as the sun sets, nicking the symmetrical skyline with an artist's flourish, I find myself tugged by the pull of another timeline. Before me lies the promise—or threat—of unpredictable streets in some distant universe.

My time here ends with a quiet nod to ingenuity and loss alike. I find myself longing for the unpredictable, for routes that do not run as sure as rulers’ edges. This traveler shall move onward, to weaving roads and mystical mazes. But for now, a quick stop is in order, perhaps at a bakery on this third block, where their pastries are known to defy even the stubborn structure of a grid.