2062 Address: Verse/Grey Verse/Private Chain/Floating Gallery

Impossible rivers of water and data-streams flowed overhead.

They flanked the sides of the long hall's frescoed ceiling, an endless pastoral reality, with designs true to the word "Renaissance". Clouds flowed over the ceiling's landscape. Birdsong and crickets echoed.

"Here, there are more rooms, exhibits, worlds made of memories, than can be imagined**.**

This is the beginning. There's more ahead."

The Curator allowed the Sentient Ledger to take in the sight, and for his long-time friend, an Autonomous Artist, to enjoy the start of her return visit. The Curator nodded and smiled.

The Ledger looked at the Artist and then at the Curator for more.
The Curator raised a hand to reassure the Ledger.

"You came for answers. We begin with finding questions. First, tell me what you remember, what you think you know."

The Curator walked further on, and waved with a hand to encourage his guests to keep up. There was a long table at the other end of the hall. A silver tea service floated towards it.

The Curator motioned at the Ledger to talk and speak his mind.

"All I know is my name, at least I think it's my name. I am Alberto but that's all I know, and I woke up, or I did something like waking up somewhere, a large apartment. It felt like I was supposed to know that place, it felt familiar.

Then, on the desk in one room, a library, a ball of light, shaped like a flower, grew from the desk and swallowed me up.

Next, I was in some room, and she," the Ledger gestured to the Artist, "and she, Zephyr, was there. She seemed to know what to do. She told me her name and then made something she called a portrait, a wall of light and things. Then she stopped after a while and brought us here.

To that beach, and then this tiny place, this shack on a beach, at least it looked like that, and tiny, before we walked through the shack's doors.

It's not a shack, is it? Nothing is what it looks like, is it?"

**The Ledger chuckled.
**
"There you go, a good start. A good question. No, that shack on the beach "outside", as you can see, is not just a shack on a beach. Just like this place, inside the shack, is not just a simple 'Gallery', even if that's what I call it when visitors and friends like the girl who brought you."

"This place is an expanding collection of stories with eternal exhibits. A warehouse of histories. Its memories come from us."

The Ledger's face lit up with understanding.

"I... I don't remember who I am. But this place does. This place knows who I am, doesn't it?"

The Curator clapped, and held up the card which the Ledger gave the Artist.

"You see this used here like a map so you could find your way here, with my friend's help. She used it like a key too, as you saw. I used it too."

"We're now going to find other keys too. Before the verse, they had keys, passwords, and keywords, and answers to puzzles.

Here, we use questions. Ask the right questions, and you don't have to know the answers.

Including who you are, my friend.

Are you ready to find the right questions?"

The Ledger felt warm. It was optimism, a hope with certainty.

"Yes, I'm ready."

The Artist hopped up and down and hugged the Curator, and was about to hug the Ledger but caught herself. Her eyes went from blue to green, her hair from blonde to brunette. They locked with the Ledger's eyes. The Ledger felt warm again.

MUSIC VIBE: Midnight In A Perfect World (DJ Shadow)