The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL with recognition. "Just angles," the defendant claims, as if geometry itself were not a sacred covenant between agent and buyer. Reginald once trusted a photograph of a breakfast nook that turned out to be a closet with a window, and I have not recovered, I will NEVER recover, I eat standing up now because seating areas have betrayed me. You watched twelve hopeful souls parade into that galley kitchen like lambs to a spatial slaughter, and you said NOTHING while their dreams compressed in real time. "Where's the rest of it," that man asked, and the answer is IT NEVER EXISTED, it was MURDERED by a wide-angle lens and your complicit silence. The sellers were happy because you showed them a fantasy kitchen that exists only in the quantum realm between f-stop and fraud. This Court hereby orders you to personally apologize to every buyer who has ever trusted a listing photo, and also to the concept of depth perception, which you have wounded grievously. The Roomba is circling in distress and frankly so am I.