Procedural Intelligence

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We were scattered across the airport floor next to baggage claim when Krystina found us. Bike wheels, panniers, ukeleles, and a few milliliters of exposed hydraulic fluid littered the floor like Washinton's most eclectic popup airport yard sale.

Our first customer, a military mechanic, stopped by to share some of his knowledge of break pistons. The car couldn't hold both bikes, so we handed Krystina the overnight bags and took to the streets.

The roads were dark, and the clouds were darker. A robotic voice generously gifted directions every few miles in a wireless earbud in each of our ears. Jarvis's pants were now soaked. It wasn't just the water spilled on him during the flight, nor was it the product of a faulty bladder. The sky was doing what it does best in Washington in November, but we defied the rain with Queen and Parcels.

Tacoma. Krystina's home is perched atop the highest peak of this coffee fueled town. The thought of grabbing hold of one of the lightrails and being pulled to the top crossed my mind, but no, I suspect they aren't brave enough to venture up as high as we needed to go. A steaming bowl of veggies and rice noodles welcomed us to her quaint castle on the hill. The houseplants outnumber us 10:1... and they looked over us as we ate their brethren. If this is my last post, tell Sammy I still have his PS4