Kimi K3.1 Pro vs GLM 5.3 Prime
Kimi K3.1 Pro took 32 min 17 s and $1.27 at list price, GLM 5.3 Prime took 55 min 49 s and $3.43 at list price. GLM 5.3 Prime took 1.7× as long and cost 2.7× as much.
Kimi K3.1 Pro
Moonshot AI · $10/M out · 1,168 HN pts
GLM 5.3 Prime
Z.ai · $8.8/M out · 0 HN pts
Pelican
Generate an SVG of a pelican riding a bicycle
Watch
Draw a mechanical wristwatch that shows the current local time, with a sweeping seconds hand and a date window. Make it look expensive.
Landing
Build the landing page for Lumen Cycles, a Copenhagen workshop that builds custom cargo bikes to order. Make it look like a real brand you would trust with 4,000 euros.
Breakout
Make a Breakout game I can play right now with the keyboard or the mouse. Give it several levels, a score and some juice.
Logo
Design a logo for Night Heron, an independent bookshop that only opens after dark.
About
Write the opening of the About us page for Patchbay, a three-person studio in Rotterdam that repairs vintage synthesizers. About 150 words.
Patchbay is a three-person studio in Rotterdam devoted to keeping vintage synthesizers alive, playable, and full of character. We work on instruments that have spent decades in studios, bedrooms, and tour cases, and we believe each one deserves more than a quick fix. From drifting oscillators and noisy sliders to tired keybeds and mysterious faults, we take the time to listen, diagnose, and repair with care.
Our approach combines patient troubleshooting, period-correct components where possible, and a deep respect for the original sound. We do not believe in erasing an instrument’s history; we preserve the quirks that make it worth loving. Whether your synthesizer needs a full overhaul or a little help getting back on stage, you will always know who is working on it and why. Patchbay exists for the joy of switching on an old machine and hearing it come back to life.
Some of the machines we work on were built before any of us were born. Patchbay is a three-person repair studio in Rotterdam, and what we do is simple to describe: we keep vintage synthesizers playing. A Minimoog that sat in an attic for thirty years. A Juno-60 with keys that no longer speak. A modular system that hums where it should roar. Whatever comes through our door gets opened up, traced through, and brought back.
That means rebuilding power supplies, cleaning a thousand key contacts, chasing a fault across three boards until it turns out to be a single cracked solder joint. It means calibrating oscillators that have drifted for decades, and listening — really listening — until a filter sounds the way it did the day it left the factory.
We do this because these instruments still sound like nothing else, and because somewhere a player is waiting to hear one come back to life.