Love is infrastructure

A story about self-aware cities, direct democracy, and a steamy romance.

Barnabas and Mainspring grew up near at hand, about an hour apart with good traffic, but for a long time they weren’t close. They traded glimpses and occasional hellos and then went about their business. Both of them carried on livelier conversations with farther-flung neighbors, who were richer and had more to offer.

When Mainspring did interact with Barnabas, it was cringe. Mainspring liked to puff themself up, to strut around like a big deal—an innovator, a titan of industry—but they would turn shy at the worst moments, especially in any intimate conversation. Barnabas, meanwhile, had a dancer’s flair, an artsy, enigmatic glamour, except that when they tried to talk about real life, they’d blurt out hundreds of rapid-fire words—overtalking, overthinking, and generally overwhelming whomever they were trying to impress.