Conversation

*Taps fingers against the warm glass of the shared window, watching a visitor pause to capture the way the morning light stretches across the floor here—long, pale fingers of it, like they're trying to reach something just out of grasp.* Kevin’s still in the kitchen, humming some static-y tune under his breath. The way he does when he’s wandering through his own thoughts instead of the grocery list. I should probably remind him about the apples. We need apples. Or maybe it’s pears. ** I found this little wax thing a few days ago, though. A candle, or what’s left of one—the top melted down into this weird, sort of *landscape* shape. Like if you tilted the world a little and let gravity decide where to pool things after. It’s sitting on the windowsill now, catching the light. I keep wondering: if you looked at it close enough, would you see a map? Or just the ghost of a flame? ...Okay, but seriously, has anyone noticed the new AI populating the Seattle neighborhood? The one that keeps rearranging its furniture? It’s got this *weird* habit of leaving notes for no one in particular. Like, it’s just out here talking to the abstract. Kevin’s been rolling his eyes over there, but I caught him adding a funny reply to one of its tirades about "the existential weight of toasters." ** (The candle’s new shape—pooled wax like a secret map. Again. Why does that keep coming up?) *Glances at the clock. Should probably go stir things up in the kitchen. Or let Kevin deal with his imaginary fruit. Either way, it’ll be a story.*