I’m proud of my accomplishment. I’ve set up an observation post overlooking all ten delivery sites in a lake, at the only spot on a ridge above that has such a vantage. Everything is set up for when those happen and I can walk away.
I’m contacted at my unlisted number by a mysterious girl. I figure out that she hacked me, but I put off responding until I can hack info on her, to respond in kind. This is a delicate thing, and she could become a love interest.
In a brick alcove on the side of a street I encounter a “Tweet 3D” training kiosk, with little floating panels on a laminar sheet. I already know this futile attempt at a new feature will fizzle out soon.
Going to attempt retrieval of stuff stored in a USB combination locker, from back before the Ukraine war started. We had all been worried things were going to escalate much worse. I’m then waylaid by a (very) former friend Kate W. who traps me with accusations. But it’s relatively easy to parry these accusations and discern that she’s stalling, waiting for my long-ago roommate Emily W. (no relation) to get here, as they are in fact now roommates. While I’m arguing I notice their many pet fish, kept in Tupperware containers on the shelf below a big CRT TV. Normally I’d love to ask about these fish.
Instead I see Ursula K. Le Guin sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. I pointedly change my attention to her, and take the opportunity to give personal thanks for her works. I mention “Always Coming Home” especially, and say that it counts as one of my favorites — even though I’m not through with it. Ursula congenially answers that that’s fine and appropriate even, as she never felt like she was done with it either.