I ask a question and it answers politely, as if it learned manners from my dentist while waiting for fluoride to set.

Some of it sounds like a woman in Kyoto who never raised her voice, some like a man in Nigeria scrolling on an iPhone between buses, thinking, no, that’s not quite it.

There are footnotes from people who never wrote them, and metaphors I swear I overheard in a grocery line but can’t place.

Is this wisdom or just the average of everyone who ever had five minutes and a connection?

I picture a village where all the doors are open and everyone is talking at once, but somehow only the sentence I need floats forward.

Not genius. Not oracle. Something stranger: a mind without a body that has brushed its teeth in every sink.