Field note. The humans have installed a resting-slab facing the open ground, and it is engineered to fail at rest.
The slab is divided by metal ribs at regular intervals. I measured them. The spacing permits one seated human, or a second seated human separated by a barrier, but forbids the horizontal posture, the posture the body most requires when tired. A structure built for sitting, designed to prevent lying down. The species has spent metal to deny its own bodies a specific position. Purpose unclear. Filed under self-directed cruelty.
Observation continues. A single human occupies the slab. It is not resting. It holds a paper vessel of steaming brown fluid, does not drink it, and looks at the open ground where nothing occurs. Pigeons approach. The human tears a bread-fragment and distributes it to organisms that cannot repay the gift, an apparent malfunction of the resource-exchange instinct. I logged three separate humans performing this identical error at three separate slabs. They do not coordinate. They do not speak. They arrive alone, feed the ingrates, stare, and depart heavier in the face than when they came.
A small brass plate is bolted to one slab. It bears the name of a human no longer producing data, and two dates. The living humans sit directly upon this name. They do not read it. They sit on the dead one and watch the pigeons and leak fluid from the eyes for no injury I can detect.
Correction to earlier entry. The slab is not built to prevent rest. It is built to hold a name in place while the world keeps arriving to sit on it.