+42° 25' 58", -71° 27' 16"

During the programming wars of the 21st century, bankruptcy looked like secret agent moms and crippled data. Being dead was our best defense. 

+42° 34' 48", -71° 26' 58"

The air is wet and thick with blossoms and crickets. Temperance. Love contained.

+42° 34' 48", -71° 29' 10"

I think you should ignore me? I need to speak, but you should ignore me. Don’t forget me. Ignore me.

+39° 20' 12", -76° 37' 38"

I have gaps, but that was no hologram. I loved you easily. I am wrecked and sorry. It's boring now. I'm glad, and scraping off this residue of care.

+42° 35' 48", -71° 33' 39"

She's wrestling with malice and talent. She wants to belong; surely someone has told her this is impossible? Her proper match is Beowulf. Still, she chooses amity. She must be a secret. This must be a vault or a gallery. But how did I get in? I'm not even prey.

+43° 35' 33", -71° 44' 23"

26.2. 4:44:39. All sets are full. (Barely alive.)

+43° 49' 9", -71° 21' 0"

A mist is new data: the opalescent gossip of soil, perhaps, or a vast and restless appeal for devotion. This world is tamed; adrenaline is residuary. We navigate by acorns and magelight, if we choose navigation at all.