This is a little essay about a striped shirt. It is utterly meaningless, intended only to fill space so that there are some words to see, for those who might look close enough to realize that the blue stripes seen at a distance of perhaps five or more feet are actually formed by words that seem to go on endlessly. Is there any meaning to them? What is the point of a pattern? What makes one set of shapes more meaningful than another? There is no real though behind this stream of words, honestly, and it is ridiculous that you have read this far. We are just filling space, seriously. You cannot even read the whole thing because of the armpits! Presumably you are not the one wearing the shirt, you are standing fairly closely, possibly violating his or her personal space. This could be the antidote to the social fragmentation that emerged from the worldwide Covid pandemic. Since people have been conditioned to stand at two-arms-length, so too have our relationships as human beings, double-walled-off by electronic media that feeds a stream of pleasurable interactions. This shirt's pattern beckons, it invites the bystander to come closer, to inspect the words. We hope. Yes, there is that slim hope that perhaps there is some meaning here, that there is someone reading them, despite the warning and the disclaimer of anything of importance to be found.