A forklift doesn’t negotiate. It doesn’t blink. It doesn’t care that your sneakers are new, that you’ve got errands to run after work, that you’re thinking about lunch. One second you’re walking. The next you’re a red smear against dusty concrete, a cautionary tale whispered to the next guy who ignores the warning.

This poster puts you in the warehouse. Headlights cutting through haze, forks raised like fangs, shadows slicing across pallets stacked like corpses in a morgue. It’s not decoration. It’s a warning you can’t ignore. Pay attention — the forklift won’t.