In the heart of the city stands a building. Four floors. Four worlds. Divided by rules, roles, and silent agreements. At the bottom: invisible labor, where respect isn’t guaranteed but deeply needed. One floor up: deadlines, numbers…. Human dignity? Above that: chaotic surfaces and talk of diversity, but the real inclusions stays excluded. At the top: control, silence, distance —and a lonely cold that power can’t warm. Maybe if we see that the building is fake, made by humans, and it doesn’t matter which floor you came from, the world would be better. Yesterday I learned this. But did we really learn?