The Last Log
She looks out from the window of her Workstation. She's been studying the contour with its black metallic screens and walls, its floors adobe-like.
(She will happily write code as if to create the lottery of love in this spacious containment, which could be both deafening and defining to whoever or whatever arrives).
She checks her poetics as if they would automatically train their guns on the only crossing in this panoramic view-- theJungle valley, lush mountains, lime-green ocean horizon-- all connected at a location that could be considered prime, but never to her biobot instincts.
It is an ample space. It is the space she uses to create her mind.