The engine replied, simply: "I'll be here."
She closed the laptop. The rain had stopped. On the far side of the street, a lamppost buzzed to life and painted the wet road in a stripe of gold. Mara walked out onto her porch, letter in hand, and felt finally like someone who had learned how to finish a small, important thing.
Then, on the third night, the program offered a line that was not suggested but claimed: "I ran out of stories. Would you like to share one?"
