She weaved the hulking black 4Runner through traffic like a pro. The lights of the city reflected off the windscreen as they roared onto Cap Hill from the ferry terminal.

Her outfit matched the truck. A black cotton crop top and matching skirt, topping black 18-eye Dr. Martens. Long strands of bleached blonde hair framed her face. Her eyes glittered behind black-rimmed glasses. she reached behind her for five pounds of Vanson leather as she climbed out and into the warm, wet night.

They passed through the curtains and into the bar. Worn wooden beams and paper lantern light mixed with el wire and clear lexan paneling. every inch of the bar was festooned with stickers. It was as if a custom-built gamer laptop and a thousand year old ryokan had a baby. Tako was like stepping through a door in Emerald City and winding up in Roppongi.

Three stools sat empty at the end of the bar. He took her jacket off of her and rested it on the last stool before taking the seat next to her. She hadn't known it, but he had minted tokens after their first night here years ago. That stake, along with their cultural contributions, ensured their favorite spot in the room was waiting for them that night. It also provided the option to influence what was on the stereo if they chose.

He squeezed her hip and whispered in her ear as the bartender arrived with their tea. She thanked them and took a long sip before standing to cross the bar. He took his camera from his bag and started dialing it in.

The DJ stood to the side of the turntables, reading by a small Tiffany lamp and nursing soda water. The burnt straw of his hair, punctuated by the gold jewelry mixed throughout his face, neck, ears, and wrists pulled at the light as he moved. He was, as was always the case at this hour, in a tuxedo. She moved in and wrapped her arms around him, digging her fingers into the purple velvet of his jacket. "Good evening sugar butt," She said, barely audible over the din of the bar.

"Hello there kitten," he purred back. His focus never leaving the Daylight device under the lamp. "I see you picked up some compelling pieces since I last saw you." The screen showed everything she had my collected in the past month, along with who else had collected the same pleas, as well as other work from the same artists. "Do you have some inspiration to share?" He asked, looking down into her eyes.

She took one leg out to her side and brought her boot down to rest next to the lamp. "Does this count as inspiration?" Glancing over her shoulder she caught the eye of her date, biting his lip from behind the camera.

She knew he was referring what he was reading about her. There were tokens from each place she'd walked or eaten. Each live performance, museum exhibit, and gathering of people. Every quiet drink with a close friend. The collected strands of moments were an unfiltered dataset she shared with him and very few others. Ever since he brought her through the looking glass, she had trusted him to see effectively everything she did. IRL and URL.

"The dance card is nearly full," He said. "We'll be ready by April."

She returned her boot to the floor and leaned over to look at the display. "I can't believe you still use this DC1," she said, gesturing at the tablet under the lamp. "It's ancient. Let me gift you some new gear."

"You know new doesn't interest me." He gestured toward her date with the brass pen in his hand, "I know he's dying to tan you like last summer. Time to start shopping bikinis and kaftans, sailor." With his wand he drew a quick diagram on the display. "How do you feel about this grouping?"

On screen she saw a series of pixelated pfps. Gradients of color in small squares. Orbiting around each of them were similar bouquets of strands just like her own, but smaller and lacking detail. She tapped on one of the pfps and watched the interface shift to display their public threads woven into her own. "That's wonderful news," she said. "It looks like this one help improve our value in New York."

"They've been showing a lot of interest in the Village Vanguard property, as well as Monk's physicals," he concurred. Having seen both their raw feeds, he knew far better than the view they were looking at together — these two would be thick as thieves in no time.

"Would you put on Monk's Blues, now that you mention it?" She asked, standing up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek before collecting her tea. She proceeded to dance slowly across the room. She soaked the first measures of the silky piano into her skin as it sent her back to her date.

The two of them finished a bowl of Oyakodon together. Then they finished listening to side A before stepping out into Seattle to roam the city, photographing each other and making out.

The DJ raised his pen to his lips. The brass was burnished from ages of use. It had been his grandfather's before his partner had it retrofitted as a birthday gift.

He looked out from behind the boards as he whispered into it, "Lock the Anahola guestlist. Forward their preference stacks to Kelly. Have them start crafting the training and nutrition programs. Analyze the group's public casts. Compare sentiment with my DMs and GCs. Give me a report with a dinner prompt for each night. Block time to review before a meal with Blair. Any time in the next two weeks." Blair would catch anything he had missed.

He looked forward to these gatherings and took them deadly seriously. The solitude, shared exertion and relaxation, and creative play were indispensable. Everyone came away with new projects and fresh tokens. Everyone grew their fabric of earned trust, and in so doing, everyone gained stronger bonds to the world around them.

ALOHA