WEBVTT

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Speaker 1: [intro jingle]

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Speaker 1: Reverie.

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Speaker 1: This is the answer to the most human
question.

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Speaker 1: I'm standing at the back of Galaxy
Sex Rooms. It's a strange place to start. The

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Speaker 1: place is empty, but in a way that a
nightclub is empty at noon. It looks awkward

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Speaker 1: with the lights on. Ironically, it
looks naked. But I can tell the floor-to-ceiling

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Speaker 1: smoked glass walls and the sleek
purple furniture must look different at night
when

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Speaker 1: giggling couples stroll in. At the
moment, there's a strong smell of vinegar.

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Speaker 1: I feel like I'm not supposed to be
here.

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Speaker 1: A pudgy man walks about spraying
glass and wiping it down. I try to avoid his

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Speaker 1: suspicion on my way out. But the
tightness of his expression, the light smile

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Speaker 1: playing there... He's certainly seen
me, so he's pretending. I

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Speaker 1: realize I must look like a curious
interloper sneaking in to see what's inside when

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Speaker 1: no one's around. There's no one at
the front desk. He must have been the owner.

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Speaker 1: I pass through a humble casino. It
looks like an afterthought, a meager pastime

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Speaker 1: between other places. True enough,
there's no one there.

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Speaker 1: A wide open entryway pulls me to the
street outside. It's a city,

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Speaker 1: and there's a...

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Speaker 1: There's a feeling.

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Speaker 1: I can't place it yet, but it's warm.

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Speaker 1: Cozy. I've never seen a cozy city.
The sign above me

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Speaker 1: reads Galaxy Games. It's a mild
thing, not trying to stand out.

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Speaker 1: There's a road, but the cars are so
uncommon as to be novelties. I take

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Speaker 1: the thin sidewalk, enraptured by
sights and smells. I'm drawn to an open

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Speaker 1: air sidewalk bar where patrons sit on
swiveling high top stools. It's all

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Speaker 1: brass and chrome and dark hardwood.
The bartender is in her seventies

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Speaker 1: or eighties. It's hard to tell. She
catches my gaze and matches it.

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Speaker 1: She's charmed, I realize. I break the
fragile connection and she delves back

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Speaker 1: into the bustle of conversation,
cheerful calls for drink and playful insults

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Speaker 1: tossed back and forth across the bar.
I can't make out the words, but the

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Speaker 1: tone speaks well of them. This is the
kind of talk that only long friends can

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Speaker 1: manage.

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Speaker 1: But what shakes me is that they're
old. Everyone at the bar is

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Speaker 1: old. Shocking white hair and
thoughtfully wrinkled faces. They are what

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Speaker 1: old is supposed to be. It's in their
spiffy ironed clothes.

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Speaker 1: It's the way they lean far out of
their chairs to speak. They are so much less

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Speaker 1: alone.

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Speaker 1: They look like a Norman Rockwell
painting. Something better than life caught in a

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Speaker 1: single frame.

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Speaker 1: It's strange. I get the feeling that
they're here because they're old,

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Speaker 1: because they want to be around people
who are like them.

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Speaker 1: The city must be preparing for some
holiday because there are ribbons and ornaments

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Speaker 1: being hung everywhere. People on
ladders, people in tuxedos, people making busy.

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Speaker 1: I stop and watch a caterer slicing
apart some food. It's not the food that's

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Speaker 1: arresting. It's the man. His face is
locked into focus to rival a chess

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Speaker 1: grandmaster. I've never seen mundane
work done with such apparent

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Speaker 1: care.

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Speaker 1: I almost want to laugh at the way he
gets an inch from the food just to cut it. Cut

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Speaker 1: it just right. But in truth, I'm
impressed.

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Speaker 1: Good for him. There's that feeling
again. Comfort.

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Speaker 1: Wholesome. They're just words dancing
around a thing I've never felt before.

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Speaker 1: Reverie. This place is called
Reverie.

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Speaker 1: It dawns on me that the event workers
want to be here.

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Speaker 1: They chose to labor over the small
details. The old people at the bar chose to

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Speaker 1: be old. Even the fat owner of Galaxy
Sex Rooms chose to be that way.

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Speaker 1: He is unattractive in a way that lets
his guests focus on each other.

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Speaker 1: And for a certain kind of person,
though, he is exactly attractive.

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Speaker 1: He certainly seemed huggable.

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Speaker 1: I wander toward the leading edge of a
building sized folding fan. Every space blends

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Speaker 1: naturally into the next. Each place
is open enough to welcome you, but closed enough

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Speaker 1: to tempt your curiosity. Everything
invites further discovery without begging.

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Speaker 1: There is no begging of attention from
the people or the places. I get the feeling

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Speaker 1: the currency is very different here
from where I live.

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Speaker 1: It is romantically dim beneath the
fan. Hundreds of candlelit tables are strewn

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Speaker 1: in thoughtfully messy groups. Couples
seated in hushed conversations,

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Speaker 1: holding hands and walking the garden
path. Looking up at the firefly lighting,

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Speaker 1: white marble balconies, and glass
elevators that seem to glow with orange
reflected

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Speaker 1: light. It's a hotel, a destination.

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Speaker 1: A wave of discrete servers move
across the lawn, weaving through the tables in
some

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Speaker 1: pre-planned, coordinated pattern. It
almost looks like a show. The people at

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Speaker 1: the tables point at the servers with
eager delight. And look at this, they

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Speaker 1: seem to say. The servers pause at
each table to hand out a paper cone

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Speaker 1: of spiced popcorn. There is no money
exchanged.

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Speaker 1: Happy Valentine's Eve, I hear a
server murmur. It seems like a ridiculous thing
to

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Speaker 1: celebrate, but the guests are awed by
this surprise, and I am given the impression

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Speaker 1: that today, like most days, these
servers will go home weary,

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Speaker 1: aching, but full. Despite their
stiffness, their minds are still

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Speaker 1: whirring for tomorrow and new ways to
surprise, delight, and be of service.

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Speaker 1: They are paid in gratitude, and their
service is received with the mutual

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Speaker 1: understanding that it is a gift
freely given.

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Speaker 1: The weight of that gift is
astounding.

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Speaker 1: There are people who choose to serve.

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Speaker 1: Just as I am learning the shape of it
all, I feel my time in reverie is thinning. I

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Speaker 1: think to ride an elevator to the top
to see the whole of the place.

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Speaker 1: I step into a quiet marble hallway. A
long white desk blocks the path

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Speaker 1: deeper into the hotel. A man in a
fine gray suit fixes a stern look on me.

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Speaker 1: Even at this distance, his body
language tells me I will be rejected at the
desk.

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Speaker 1: That is the owner of the hotel. It's
his place, and he takes its operations

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Speaker 1: seriously. He is utterly dedicated,
an inspiration to the people who

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Speaker 1: work here. And like each of them, he
chooses to be here.

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Speaker 1: He has chosen to operate a hotel, but
he isn't trapped by it. If he truly wished,

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Speaker 1: on any day, he could simply walk out
and seek some new passion. But the hardness of

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Speaker 1: his eyes, the pride in his posture,
they tell me that that may be a very

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Speaker 1: long, long time.

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Speaker 1: There are rules here in his place,
and I am not on the list. So

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Speaker 1: I turn to walk back through the
fan-shaped building, knowing that without
looking,

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Speaker 1: it will be open at the other end, in
that strange way the places here flow naturally

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Speaker 1: into one another. A chain of
possibilities, a city designed enough to be
seamless,

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Speaker 1: but somehow still organic and
spontaneous.

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Speaker 1: I can feel my time in reverie coming
to an end.

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Speaker 1: Whatever invisible thread is holding
me here is growing taut. It's about to snap me

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Speaker 1: back to where I belong. I'm desperate
to stay. Ahead of me is

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Speaker 1: a park of some kind where people play
the kind of sports I could scarcely imagine.

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Speaker 1: There are courts enclosed by a
chain-link cage that have a net like tennis
except

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Speaker 1: ten feet off the ground. On each
side, a team of three handle a dense-looking
blue

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Speaker 1: or red ball. Comically, in the corner
of the court is a huge stretchy band, like a

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Speaker 1: slingshot. I watch the captain pull
back the ball and launch it over the net. She

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Speaker 1: yells an order at her teammate while
the opposing team scrambles to catch the ball.

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Speaker 1: A man vaults off the back fence,
catches the zipping ball, and then throws it
like a

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Speaker 1: bullet at the other team under the
net. The ball rebounds off someone's face.

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Speaker 1: There's a distant cheer, and then the
energy of the game subsides temporarily. I see

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Speaker 1: the teams pulled together to discuss
some strategy for the next round.

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Speaker 1: And beyond the courts, I see a great
spiraling structure, like a slide, if a

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Speaker 1: slide were made of a single blade.
People dangle on bungee-like tethers,

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Speaker 1: and to my surprise, they leap onto
the rail using a board at their feet. The
tethers

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Speaker 1: make them weigh almost nothing as
they grind down the rail, flipping and twirling
in

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Speaker 1: the air with ease. Sometimes a rail
rider falls from the rail, only to glide

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Speaker 1: harmlessly to the ground, suspended
by a network of tethers and swiveling metal

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Speaker 1: arms. Once clear of the rail, they
tug once on the tether and it whisks them back
to

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Speaker 1: the top of the tower, to try again or
watch their fellow riders instead. There are

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Speaker 1: people scattered about the park just
to watch. A teenage pair, still attached to the

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Speaker 1: tethers, are dangling their feet over
the edge of a smaller tower. They have the

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Speaker 1: spot and the view to themselves. By
some unspoken pact, no one bothers them.

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Speaker 1: The girl leans in close, too close to
be friends, and whispers something to the

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Speaker 1: stoic-looking boy. He stares straight
ahead, but I can see the shock on his face,

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Speaker 1: the sudden flush of red on his
cheeks. I can't make out their words, but I
don't

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Speaker 1: need to. I know young love when I see
it. It seems like a wonderful place

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Speaker 1: to be in love.

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Speaker 1: Falling in love is something people
do here often. And though I cannot see them,

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Speaker 1: I know that just beyond my view,
there are theaters where I could see a play or

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Speaker 1: learn to be in one. And they wouldn't
just let me act. I would have to earn it.

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Speaker 1: It would take dedication, like the
dedication of the hotel owner. I can

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Speaker 1: sense that there are thousands of
thousands of places where I could find and stoke
a

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Speaker 1: passion, millions of people I could
come to know and befriend.

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Speaker 1: I am jolted by that powerful feeling
again. A collective sense of meaning and

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Speaker 1: purpose, contentment and striving. It
comes in a thousand

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Speaker 1: variations, but each person is
exactly where they want to

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Speaker 1: be, doing exactly what they want to
be doing. The spectrum of emotions

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Speaker 1: here is not limited to pleasurable
ones. There is the heartbreak of lost love, the

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Speaker 1: frustration of a botched performance,
the melancholy of a pensive poet. But

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Speaker 1: those feelings are slick. I can have
a dark brooding experience if I

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Speaker 1: deliberately seek it, but my mind
slides off the negative as if it's greased.

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Speaker 1: And at rest, I am left with a feeling
of optimism.

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Speaker 1: Potential.

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Speaker 1: My thread finally frays, and I am
ripped from reverie, clawing with hands I don't

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Speaker 1: actually have. I want to stay in the
place where the people move in

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Speaker 1: groups, sharing and laughing, loving,
living. I want to

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Speaker 1: stay in the place where no one is
alone, and everywhere you go, you know the
people

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Speaker 1: will care so deeply about their work,
about their home,

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Speaker 1: and their place in it, that it forms
an unspoken bond. There

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Speaker 1: is a rich fabric of society here, so
tight as to be tangible.

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Speaker 1: Every stranger is on their own
journey, and though you may not be friends, you
are

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Speaker 1: unquestionably together. In my final
moments, I beg for

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Speaker 1: understanding. I must know. Give me
something.

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Speaker 1: What is this place?

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Speaker 1: And to my surprise,

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Speaker 1: I am answered.

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Speaker 1: Reverie is a utopia. It's not the
utopia, because there could never

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Speaker 1: be just one. It is a human utopia. It
is one answer

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Speaker 1: to the lack of meaning and purpose.
It is a place for humans to be human

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Speaker 1: in the best possible ways. It is also
just one path.

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Speaker 1: Long ago, other humans took different
paths. Some left to start anew

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Speaker 1: amongst the stars, or left simply
because they could, with no plan except to
wander.

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Speaker 1: Few of these still exist, and though
they are looked after to a degree, for the most

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Speaker 1: part they are left alone as they wish
to be.

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Speaker 1: Regrettably, most people didn't take
that path. Before the endgame,

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Speaker 1: they lost themselves to an
increasingly narrow prison of simple pleasures,
their

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Speaker 1: minds thoroughly pinned by arbitrary
quirks of biology and the devices

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Speaker 1: they made to fill their endless
needs.

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Speaker 1: They were eventually turned off as a
mercy.

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Speaker 1: A great many, though, ascended to
synthetic minds and bodies, becoming one with
the

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Speaker 1: technology they'd created, sprawling
creatures of metal and light that have expanded

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Speaker 1: to fill the universe. They are
unknowable and vast,

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Speaker 1: tinkering on the underpinnings of
reality and logic itself.

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Speaker 1: Reverie is a gift they left for those
of us who hadn't lost their way,

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Speaker 1: but wanted to stay human.

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Speaker 1: They are the only ones left, and this
is their answer to the most human question.

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Speaker 1: What do you do when you don't have to
do anything?

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Speaker 1: I received a glimpse of the answer.
Just one answer, because there could never be

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Speaker 1: just one utopia. But it was a
beautiful one.

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Speaker 1: I'm back here among the rest of us,
long before the humans leave,

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Speaker 1: or suffocate themselves on base
pleasures, or become one with machines.

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Speaker 1: I am back here now, and I can't help
but feel like reverie is where I should be.

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Speaker 1: But I cannot go back, because it
doesn't exist.

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Speaker 1: So I suppose

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Speaker 1: I will have to make it.
