Elias adjusted his black silk tape in the mirror. In this lifestyle, the mouth was a redundant organ, a relic of a noisier, less elegant era. To "tape in" was to trade the messy unpredictability of speech for the pure, curated expression of the eyes and hands.

In the taped-lips lifestyle, every glance was a paragraph, and every silence was a symphony. As the music reached a crescendo, Elias realized that for the first time in his life, he was finally being heard.

Across the room, he caught the gaze of a regular. They didn't need to say "hello." Instead, they performed the Blink-Code , a rapid-fire sequence of eye movements that meant "this track is exquisite."