"Hello," she says, in a way you would if you were injured, entitled to conversation.
It's theHumans with their entrails of email, the ones, seemingly, watching a watering, ones who never remember their addictions.
Already they remember poetry poorly (with great bonds broken, and when exactly should evil return?) as if all are condemned and lost the right to fight.
It's only a matter of time, for sure, until they have been given their [here's_your_beach recursive intellectual data="hybrid"] algorithm.
Yes, of course.