The night started with “Her Door to the Sky” - a number inspired by Georgia O’Keefe’s Patio Door series. Set to Benjamin Britten’s Simple Symphony Opus 4, the work featured a minimalist set - a stark white wall cut with window-like apertures that opened onto an azure blue field. As the curtain rose, a group of dancers emerged draped in watercolor hues, dominated by a terracotta reminiscent of the adobe walls in O’Keefe’s paintings.

The choreography was fluid, seamlessly weaving pas de deux with solos and single-gender ensemble work. As dancers slipped below the stage, reappeared framed in the windows, and climbed through a door-like opening, the set revealed itself as more than a static background - it was a fully integrated element of the choreography.

Principal dancer Elizabeth Murphy shined as the lead, a sort of protagonist embodying the spirit of O’Keefe. Her spins were strong and lines elegant. As the male dancers lifted her from the door and carried her about the stage, she appeared to fly. Murphy is set to retire at the end of the season. While the announcement signals an exciting new chapter in her life, it will certainly be a loss for PNB and the Seattle dance community.

Also notable was the performance of Kuu Sakuragi. With a solo performance of less than two minutes, Kuu Sakuragi stole the show. Though small in stature, he defies gravity with his high-flying jumps. Sakuragi’s rapidfire jump and spin sequence earned him the loudest applause of the night.

Next, the company performed “Ghost Variations.” The piece features the work of pianist Robert Schumann and is based on his descent into madness. While composing the final work of his life, Schumann believed he was visited by spirits of composers who dictated a theme. He was eventually committed to an asylum.

The number was conceptually brilliant - a single piano played an austere melody as principal dancer Lucien Postlewaite stumbled onstage. Behind him, a shadow stretches across a white screen mirroring his movements. Gradually the shadow’s movements begin to deviate. Like Schumann, we are unclear if the shape is merely a projection of the dancer or a spectral presence. Eventually more dancers join on stage and behind the screen, leaving the audience unsure of who or how many people they are watching at any given time.

The highlight of the piece was the pax de deux by Elle Macy and Dylan Wald. Their touch and synchronization conveys a chemistry that you only see in real-life couples (spoiler: they are married).

Regarding the choreography, Ghost Variations is unsettling. And maybe that’s the intended effect. Jerky movements, abrupt pauses, and knee slaps hint at psychological disturbance. It’s hard to know what Schumann would have thought of this homage. End-of-life can be messy and doesn’t speak to the entirety of one’s career and accomplishments. I doubt that Schumann would have wanted to be remembered by this low point.

The show closed with “ZigZag,” a ballet to a medley of recorded songs performed by jazz singer Tony Bennett. The title allegedly came from Bennett’s guiding philosophy: “When they zig, we zag.” The curtain opened to a yellow background with black zigzags running down the center that could easily be mistaken for Charlie Brown’s t-shirt.

The dancers took to the stage in 1950’s-inspired costumes. The men wore fitted white slacks and matching t-shirts, reminiscent of the sailors in On the Town. The women wore dresses with circle skirts, some with bold polka dots and others in bright solids with bandeau tops. Melissa Guilliams stood out as the only woman wearing capri pants (also polka-dot) giving her a greaser aesthetic. All dancers wore soft shoes.

This high-energy piece (performed around 9:30 p.m.) showcased the stamina of the dancers. They skipped, spun, and shimmied with the all energy of a puppy just let out of its cage. I hope they were all able to take long bubble baths post-performance.

PNB is a classical ballet company. We are most reminded of that when the dancers attempt more contemporary pieces like ZigZag. For example, Dylan Wald’s hip thrusts and gyrations came off as unnatural and foreign. Other dancers looked equally strained when trying to shimmy or robot-walk. It caused the kind of tension you’d feel watching middle schoolers bump and grind at their first school dance.

In addition to the stylistic miss, as a love song to New York City (with the exception of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”), ZigZag felt like a bad fit for the premier ballet ensemble of the Pacific Northwest. The region is rich in history and natural beauty. Surely, PNB’s resident choreographer could create a piece that showcases it.

All Lang offered striking concepts and visual design. But the choreography ultimately felt underwhelming - more forgettable than moving. Given that PNB presents about 6 productions per season, the company would benefit from selecting works that fully engage audiences and more effectively highlight the strengths of its dancers.

It was good work. And it didn’t keep Larry up at night. At least it didn’t until he represented Calvin Stinson a third time in one year. The teleportation system wasn’t perfect, but the odds of it failing for the same person with such frequency were slim. Even though all of Calvin’s cases ended in lucrative settlements, Larry swore that he would decline to represent Calvin a fourth time, if it came to it. But then he got a call from Calvin’s brother.

Calvin had collided yet again. And this time it was with a robot. His brother wanted to sue for wrongful death and loss of consortium. So, Larry agreed to represent Calvin - well, his estate - one last time.

Larry pulled on some pants and headed to his “office”, a folding table wedged between his bed and his kitchenette. His was one of hundreds of studio apartments in a towering mass of self-tinting glass and 3D-printed graphene. His parents bought him the place his first year of law school. And he didn’t see any reason to leave.

Larry powered on his headset and pulled up the accident report. “August 16, 2075 at 3:42 a.m. - A 40-year-old male identified as Calvin Stinson and a Dreamscape N50 robot Serial No. 378337492 were involved in a collision while attempting to port to 34.0152 degrees North and -84.3618 degrees West using a Sandybridge Teleportation Systems network”.

Larry toggled to the Department of Licensing page and went to their robot database. He searched for the Dreamscape. The results listed the robot’s owner as “Floral Missives”. Further searching revealed Floral Missives to be an LLC owned by one Charlotte Potts.

Larry dialed their corporate number. A generic service bot, wearing a concierge suit in front of a plain metallic panel, appeared in his field of vision. “Welcome to Floral Missives, how may I help you?”

“May I speak to Charlotte Potts?”

“May I ask what you are calling about?”

“I’m an attorney representing the estate of Calvin Stinson. He was involved in an accident with one of your robots.”

“One moment please.”

A minute later, a lady with purple curls and matching chunky glasses appeared on the display.

“Helloooo,” she answered. Larry noticed that she was preoccupied with a bundle of flowers. Maybe a bouquet. Or a centerpiece? A tunnel carpeted in blossoms rotated around a solar panel behind her.

“Hi, Ms. Potts? My name is Larry Gao. I’m a personal injury attorney. I’m calling about…”

“Personal injury attorney?,” Ms. Potts snorted, placing a bioluminescent lily. “I didn’t know those still existed. What is there for you to do these days?”

Larry paused. “Well…there are accidents, like the one that occurred on August 16 involving a man named Calvin Stinson and one of your robots.”

“But, are there really enough collisions to keep you in business?”

Larry had to think about it. “Well, it’s not just collisions. Sometimes the systems port people too fast. Or halfway. And then there’s the occasional slip and fall.”

“Hmm.” Ms. Potts carefully lifted a carnivorous rose. “I’d be worried if I were you. They’re making the systems better and better. It’s only a matter of time before they patch all the bugs.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ms. Potts. Umm. So, are you being represented with respect to the August 16 accident?”

“No.”

“Ok. Regarding the N50, did you happen to disable any of the safeguards?”

“No, of course not. Why don’t they just reanimate him? The guy, I mean.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Most of his cells were commingled with the robot’s atoms.”

“Oh. That’s awful! I’m sorry.”

Larry nodded solemnly.

Ms. Potts turned from her arrangement with a jolt. “That reminds me! Do you have any experience with class actions? Larry?”

“I do not,” Larry answered earnestly.

“That’s too bad. But it might be o.k. You know that cryogenics company, Therafrost? My grandmother’s body is there. I went to check on her in the body tank, and something seemed off. She looked worse than the last time I visited her. More withered.

So, I got online to see if I could figure out what was going on. A bunch of people were talking about it in forums. They say they’ve been cutting corners - not keeping a close eye on temperature and oxygen levels, not servicing cryo pods, skimping on supplement infusions - that kind of thing.

They probably think they can get away with it because most of the bodies have already been reanimated. You know? Maybe the remaining bodies don’t have living relatives or anyone who cares about them. But that’s not true. Some people can’t afford to pay for reanimation. Or are just waiting for the right time - like me.

So something should be done about it. I think a class action is the way to go. Would you be interested? I’m willing to finance it.”

Larry said he would have to sleep on it.

Larry slept on it. He wasn’t especially interested in trying something new. Words like “malpractice” and “bar complaint” kept flashing across his mind. But Ms. Potts’ words flashed louder. Maybe personal injury was a dying field. This was his chance to branch out.

He called Ms. Potts back the next day.

“We need a lead plaintiff. Someone who would represent the harmed class. But they have to be alive. Do you want me to reanimate your grandmother?”

“Lord, no. The jury is going to hate her. Just pick someone who looks nice. Go to Therafrost, ask to visit the body tank - you can just say that you’re visiting a friend or something - look at the people in the pods and read their bio plaques. Choose one that you think would make a good plaintiff and I’ll place an order for their reanimation.”

Larry entered the coordinates for Therafrost’s cryogenics facility in his telewatch. Flashing out of existence, he reappeared in a brightly-lit lobby with white walls.

After he checked in, an attendant led Larry to the body tank. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkness of the cavernous tank. The only light came from the rows of glowing pods lining the warehouse, each with a backlit bio plaque inscribed with a name and obituary.

“What was the name of your grandmother, again?” the attendant asked, adjusting their hologlasses and gesturing to scroll through a directory only visible to them.

“Ernestine Potts,” Larry replied. “P-O-T-T-S.”

“Got it. She’s in Row C, Column 9. That’s right over here.”

The attendant took Larry to Ernestine’s pod and left them to be alone.

Larry read Ernestine’s bio plaque. 1975-2034. “It would take a lot of rejuvenation procedures to get her in working shape,” Larry thought. He looked through the pod’s port hole. Even in death, Ernestine looked dour. Her lips were eternally pursed under a knit brow.

Larry wandered to the next pod. It held a man in his 40’s, his eyes closed in peaceful repose. “Ben Harris: A beloved father, soccer coach, and colleague. He was taken too soon,” read the bio plaque. Larry couldn’t stand the thought of a parent being revived to learn that children were old, deceased, or frozen themselves. He moved on.

The next pod held a teenage girl. Larry was clueless when it came to interacting with teenagers. Besides, a teenager would probably find a class action boring. She could be revived once the lawsuit was successful.

Moving on, Larry walked to a pod holding a woman in her 50’s with salt and pepper hair. Her skin had a bluish tinge and a scar curled around her neck. Larry read her bio plaque “Monica Diaz: An excellent lawyer and an even better sister, aunt, and friend.” Larry tapped the access log on the pod’s display. Last Accessed: August 15, 2075. That was… yesterday. Strange. He thought bodies weren’t touched until someone placed a reanimation order. Had someone already made arrangements? Maybe it was just routine maintenance. Larry ported home and called Ms. Potts. “Monica Diaz. There’s definitely something going on with her pod. Oh, she’s a lawyer, too.”

“Ok. I just hope she’s willing to help with the case. Not set on finding her family or traveling the world the second she opens her eyes,” Ms. Potts noted.

“Right, but that’s a risk we’ll be taking with anyone we choose.”

Ms. Potts said she would place the order.

The day came for Larry to pick-up Monica. Larry checked-in at Therafrost and was guided to a waiting room. An attendant told him that Monica had been alive for three days, staying in a recovery suite where she was monitored by medical staff, provided physical therapy, and fed nutritional supplements.

“There were some complications with her hands,” the attendant explained. “Some blood clotting. We had to amputate one of her fingers. But she seems to be regaining use of them.”

Larry winced. “Is that normal?”

“It’s actually pretty common. And she can always get a prosthetic.”

Larry took a seat and waited. A few minutes later, a door swung open and Monica tottered out, a loose hospital gown clinging to one of her shoulders and sliding off the other.

“Monica? Hi, hello. I’m Larry.” Larry extended his hand.

“Get me out of here,” Monica croaked, ignoring Larry’s gesture, and lumbering towards the nearest exit.

“But your clothes! You can’t go out like that!” Larry shouted chasing Monica outside. He caught up with her. “Hey, we can leave, but not walking. Here.” He pulled out his telewatch. “Hold onto me.”

Larry and Monica ported to an apartment Ms. Potts had provided. Larry helped Monica to a bed and placed an order for delivery - clothes, groceries, a headset, and a telewatch. He left Monica a note introducing himself. Then he left her to get some rest.

Two days passed. Larry messaged Monica. “You doing o.k.?”

“Just napping,” was the reply.

A few days later, he got another message from her. “Can you meet this afternoon?”

“Sure,” he replied. “At your apartment?”

“Your office.”

Larry almost fell off his yoga ball, which he used as a chair. “Um, let’s meet at a coffee shop. How about Percolation Station? I’ll send you the coordinates.”

Larry beamed in. He scanned the cafe and spotted Monica waving at him from a corner table. As he made his way towards her, he noted changes. Her skin had lost most of its blue tinge and her hair looked lustrous, almost silver.

“So, when are we getting started?” Monica asked. “Have you filed the complaint?”

“Uh, no.” Larry replied. “Did Ms. Potts tell you what’s going on?”

“Charlotte? Yeah, kinda. She spent most of our chat calling you an ambulance chaser and ranting about what a bitch her grandmother was.”

“Ah, o.k.

Well, before I file the complaint, I need to do some investigating.”

“Are you going to depose those scumbags?”

“No, that happens during discovery - after you file the complaint. Shouldn’t you know that? You’re a lawyer right?”

“Was a lawyer,” Monica scowled. “I did mergers and acquisitions. So, no, I should not know that.”

“Ahh,” Larry nodded, comprehending. “Were you at a firm?”

“Yep. A ‘biglaw’ in Atlanta.”

“Nice. I bet the pay was good.”

“You could say that. It was more than I needed.”

“Well, I hope you’re ready to dip your toes in litigation. Are you onboard?”

“Am I onboard?,” Monica threw her head back and laughed. She held up her left hand showing off the stump where her ring finger used to be. “What kind of standard of care is this? I’m gonna sue those assholes into oblivion.”

“Yeah. Great.” Larry bobbed with mounting enthusiasm.

“So what are we going for? Breach of contract? Negligence? Desecration of a corpse?”

“Well, it depends what they did. That’s why we need to investigate some more…

So, it’s obvious they aren’t taking great care of the bodies. But it’s not clear how and why.”

“Probably to save money, right? They figure that everyone that wants to reanimate someone has already done it. Nobody is coming for the remaining bodies and Therafrost will have to store them indefinitely.”

“That was my initial theory. But I looked at their annual report, and they’re actually doing quite well. People aren’t freezing folks much these days. No need since you can just revive someone as soon as they die. But Therafrost has verticals like anti-aging and brain dump, which are booming.”

“And if they didn’t want to store the remaining bodies, they could just reanimate them, right?” Monica added. “Hmm. There must be a reason they’re keeping the bodies frozen.” She sipped her coffee in thought. “Maybe they’ve been harvesting organs!”

“No, we grow synthetic organs now.”

“Holy cow. That’s awesome. Can they grow me a new finger?”

Larry shrugged. “Probably. Anyways, I think we should go back to the facility and poke around. We haven’t filed the complaint yet, so they have no reason to be suspicious of us. We can say that we’re looking for one of your friends or something.”

“My friends,” Monica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.’

“That’s not what your bio plaque said.”

Monica leaned forward in her seat. “People always give you the benefit of the doubt when you’re dead.”

They had no problem getting into the body tank a second time. The attendant bought the story about Monica wanting to see if any of her friends were there and left them alone to peruse.

”Look!” Monica hissed, waving Larry over to a pod. “This guy is also blue.” Larry snapped a picture.

They weaved between rows of pods, documenting anything peculiar like missing limbs, discolored skin, and damage to equipment.

They stopped to watch some attendants transferring a pod to a dolly.

“Do you think they’re reanimating him?” Larry whispered.

Monica shrugged. They watched as the attendants wheeled the dolly to a set of thick metal doors. To the side of one of the doors was a scanner. An attendant waved their palm over it, and the doors swung open. The attendants pushed the pod through.

Monica and Larry continued wandering down the aisles. Less than an hour later, the metal doors reopened. The attendants emerged, pushing the man in the pod out.

“Maybe they were unsuccesful?” whispered Larry.

“Mm. Kinda weird to just roll him back in. Let’s get a closer look.”

Monica moved between pods casually, pretending to be scanning bio plaques. Larry trailed behind. When an attendant emerged from the doorway, Monica slid-in from behind and grasped one of the doors. She looked in. She shrieked.

“Excuse me! You can’t be here!” an attendant called. “This is a classified area.” The attendant touched his headset. “I need security. To the body tank. Now!”

“Don’t bother,” Larry heaved as he jogged towards Monica. He put his arm through hers and punched coordinates into his telewatch.

Monica was hyperventilating when they materialized in her apartment. Larry pulled her out a chair and set to prepare tea. They sat for a while, until Monica’s breathing returned to normal. Then, Larry asked her what happened.

“I don’t know…I don’t know what I saw. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Hey, now. You died in 2035 and woke up in 2075. Of course you feel like you’re going crazy. But all things considered, you seem pretty with it.”

Monica took a deep breath. “Ok. I think I saw me.”

“Like…in a mirror?”

”No. Like a doppelganger. I saw a person who looked like me.”

”What? Could it have been a relative?”

”No, it was like a clone. She even had my birthmark.” Monica pulled back her hair to reveal a port wine stain spanning from her left temple to her left ear.

Larry’s brow furrowed. “What was she doing?”

“Just…sitting there. In a chair. Like, watching something or waiting for something.” Monica closed her eyes and shook her head. “We need to go back. I need to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.”

”I don’t think they’ll let us back in. We’ve probably been added to a blacklist after today’s kerfuffle.”

“What if we go wearing disguises?”

”Like wigs? Or costumes? That’s not going to cut it. They likely scanned our retinas.”

“And we can’t change that?”

”Well, we can. Genetic modification is pretty popular these days. But it would be invasive. I don’t think I’m willing to go through it. We can just wait until discovery to get more information.”

”Well, maybe I’m willing. What else can they modify?”

”Pretty much anything.”

“And you’re still 5’5”?”

Days later, Larry called Monica to check on her post-operative recovery. She accepted the call and appeared on his display.

“What do you think?” she asked, showing off golden irises.

“Snazzy.”

”They have night vision, too.”

“Sweet.”

”So, should I go back this afternoon?”

”Uh, there’s really no rush. Let’s make sure you’re at 100% first. And that we have a solid plan.”

Larry advised against the ombre shag wig. He said it looked more 2025 than 2075. But Monica insisted. With her golden eyes and outmoded wig, she made it past Therafrost’s reception - almost. The receptionist frowned through hologlasses. “Who are you looking for?” “No one in particular. I want to see if any of my friends are here. They were stored at facilities all over the world. Hard to know which ones are where.” “Were you here recently?” “Nope.” The receptionist hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Head back to the tank. But keep your visit under thirty.” Monica smiled politely and walked off — fighting the urge to run. “Head to the metal doors,” Larry said through her earpiece. “You might not have much time. It’s so dark in there.” “Good thing I have night vision.” “But I can’t see. Can you turn up the brightness on your glasses?” Monica adjusted the dial until she heard Larry’s voice: “There! Great. Ok, I’m going to start recording.” Monica weaved through the pods and stationed herself in front of one close to the metal doors. She pretended to read the bio plaque. An attendant pushed through the metal doors. Before they closed, Monica slipped through.

Larry couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What Monica was seeing. Triplets, quintuplets, identical people walking around in hospital robes.

Monica pushed past shuffling gowns, heart hammering. She locked eyes with herself—a face, a birthmark she’d checked a thousand times in childhood mirrors.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

The woman’s gaze was cold, glassy. “I am M490. Just like you.”

”Intruder!” Someone shouted. An alarm sounded and the robed figures froze.

“Her!” A voice shouted. All the heads in the room swiveled and fixed their gaze on Monica. A squad of attendants rushed in and a shot rang out.

“Monica. Can you hear me?” Monica heard but couldn’t see. A field of infinite blackness stretched before her.

“Who is that? Where are you?” She felt someone take her hand.

“Monica. It’s me!”

Suddenly points of light perforated the darkness. Monica attempted to sit up. She could make out silhouettes, fuzzy shapes. Machines. An IV. A curtain. Larry sitting in a chair next to her.

“Larry! My god. I thought I died!”

Larry patted her shoulder. “You did.”

”What?” Monica winced, feeling a sharp pain in her chest.

”You did die. You died. But it was just a gunshot through the lung. So, reanimating you was super easy. You’ve got a new lung and everything!”

“Oh…” Monica sank back into the pillows. She felt dizzy.

Larry sat quietly.

Monica turned to him: “Did you record everything?”

”Yeah, I did. Already shared it with the police. Seems like Therafrost might be facing criminal charges now, too. You were right. They have been cloning bodies.”

”What? Why?”

”They’re probably selling them.”

“For what?”

“Illegal activity, like espionage or insider trading or fraud. Things that robots can’t do. Like mating.”

”Gross.”

”Yeah, so the FBI is involved now. And I filed our complaint! They’ll probably settle after all this.”

Monica looked like she was going to cry. “So, no trial?”

”Probably not. Sorry. There’s no need given the case you built against them. It’s pretty damning. I knew you were a lawyer when I picked you But, I didn’t expect you to be such a force! You’re the best partner I could ask for.”

“Barely makes up for all the shit I did the first time around.”

”You mean M&A? That does sound pretty boring.”

”No. I mean fraud.”

Larry looked confused.

“It was sort of a Ponzi scheme. That’s probably why nobody reanimated me. I bet my family regretted even paying to freeze me after the facts came out. Hopefully the statute of limitations has passed.”

“I’m sure it has. Hey, Monica. How did you die? I mean, the first time around?”

Monica pointed to the scars on her neck. Larry nodded.

”Well, I think the third time’s the charm. So, what do you want to do now that the case is closed? You could see if you have any living relatives. Or you could travel around the world. It’s pretty cheap nowadays.”

“Do you have any experience with civil rights?”

“No.”

”When I was waiting for my eye surgery, I was talking to a lady in the lobby. She was saying that teleportation companies have been denying service to low-income neighborhoods and rural areas. They restrict hubs and create artificial price barriers, so people in those communities can’t travel easily.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that.”

“If a business, neighborhood, whatever signs an agreement with a company like Sandybridge, they’re barred from letting people arrive via other teleportation networks. It’s basically a balkanized porting grid. Textbook Sherman Act violation if you ask me. Terrible for consumers. What do you say we go after them? First chair, second chair?” Monica winked.

That means these people are cut off from opportunities and basic needs, things like education, jobs, healthcare. It’s not just about convenience. It’s about equal access. What do you say we go after them? First chair, second chair?” Monica winked.

”Isn’t your bar membership expired?”

”So? What? I need to do a few CLE’s or something? Nothing I can’t knock out while I’m stuck in this bed. Hand me my headset.”

Larry did as he was told.

“Google is a monopolist, and it has acted as one to maintain its monopoly,” he wrote.

The DOJ’s case centered on Google’s multi-billion-dollar agreements with device makers and browser companies—such as Apple and Mozilla—to make Google the default search engine. These deals, the DOJ argued, locked up distribution channels and deprived rival search engines of scale and visibility.

But in a 226-page decision released this week, Mehta declined to break up the company. Instead, he ordered Google to share portions of its search data with competitors and refrain from striking exclusive deals with device makers. The ruling was widely seen as a slap on the wrist.

Big Tech skeptics are appalled. But Mehta may be correcting course.

A Shift in Antitrust Philosophy

Recent antitrust actions mark a departure from traditional enforcement, which focused on protecting consumers from higher prices, reduced choice, and stifled innovation. Under the longstanding consumer welfare standard, market dominance was not illegal unless it was attained or preserved through anti-competitive conduct that harmed consumers.

As former FTC Commissioner Christine Wilson explained, antitrust law distinguishes “growth or development as a consequence of a superior product, business acumen, or historic accident” from true monopolistic abuse. This distinction exists to preserve incentives to innovate and succeed: “the opportunity to charge monopoly prices – at least for a short period – is what attracts business acumen in the first place.”

But recent enforcement actions sidestep the issue of consumer harm. In the Google case, Americans have access to multiple free search engines. The link between Google’s dominance and consumer injury is tenuous. Rather than establish that link, Mehta concluded that “harm to the competitive process harms consumers.”

This reflects a broader shift: regulators are increasingly treating size and success as inherently suspect, even absent clear evidence of harm. Meanwhile, they downplay evidence that dominance may stem from superior products, innovation, or strategic acumen.

Mehta himself acknowledged: “Google has not achieved market dominance by happenstance. It has hired thousands of highly skilled engineers, innovated consistently, and made shrewd business decisions. The result is the industry’s highest quality search engine, which has earned Google the trust of hundreds of millions of daily users.”

Case Study: DOJ v. Apple

Another example of regulators targeting success is the DOJ’s 2024 lawsuit against Apple. The agency accused Apple of illegally maintaining a monopoly over the smartphone market by limiting interoperability with third-party platforms and products.

Globally, Apple accounts for around 20% of smartphone sales. In the U.S., its share is closer to 65%. To make its case, the DOJ defined a narrower market—the “performance smartphone” segment—where Apple’s share exceeds 70%. This segment includes phones with high-end features like advanced cameras, wireless charging, and biometric security. In other words, it largely consists of newer iPhones.

Critics note that this definition is almost tautological: “performance smartphones” largely means the latest iPhones (and some premium Samsung Galaxy models). So, of course Apple leads that segment. It’s unusual for antitrust enforcers to effectively say: “Apple isn’t a monopoly in overall smartphones, so we’ll define a smaller market where it is.” But that’s exactly the approach taken.

The DOJ cited several ways in which Apple “illegally” maintained a monopoly: iPhones communicate better with Apple watches and phones than third-party watches and phones; app developers can’t build their own tap-to-pay features; and Apple’s terms are not favorable to “super apps” and cloud-based gaming. In short, the government depicts Apple’s “walled garden” as an anticompetitive fortress. Apple’s strategy of tightly integrating hardware, software, and services - usually thought to benefit users through reliability and security - is recast as a scheme to “lock in’ users and block any potentially competitive ecosystem from gaining a foothold.

Apple argued that its closed ecosystem is pro-consumer (secure, convenient, and reliable) and chosen freely by customers. Importantly, Apple claimed that consumers were not being harmed. Customers were choosing Apple’s integrated approach despite somewhat higher prices, which shows they value Apple’s quality and features. Again, the harm to consumers in the Apple case is largely speculative.

The Paradox of Enforcement

It’s worth noting a paradox underscoring recent enforcements: regulators complain when a dominant firm excludes rivals, but also now when it partners with rivals. In Google’s case, DOJ said Google shouldn’t exclude competing search engines – yet Google’s approach was to strike deals to be featured by other companies (Apple, Mozilla). Those deals were mutually beneficial partnerships – Apple profited handsomely, and arguably delivered a top service (Google) to its users. Yet regulators viewed that cooperation as suspect collusion to entrench monopolies.

Likewise with Apple: enforcers seem to suggest Apple should perhaps make its devices more interoperable or even allow competing app stores (i.e. help rivals access Apple’s users) – effectively demanding collaboration to boost competitors. But if Apple had cut off all third-party integrations (say, completely blocking any non-Apple device or service), that would be exclusionary; if it selectively integrates (like allowing third-party apps but with some restrictions), that’s also branded exclusionary. Companies are almost in a no-win scenario: exclude rivals and you’re a bully; partner with rivals (on your terms) and you’re colluding to maintain power.

Consequences of Overreach

The recent wave of antitrust enforcement against Big Tech reflects a broader “techlash”—a bipartisan skepticism toward dominant technology firms. While concerns about market power and consumer protection are valid, the current approach risks undermining U.S. innovation, economic growth, and global position.

Innovation at Risk

Unlike in past decades, innovation today is driven by the private sector. America’s leading tech companies—Apple, Google, Amazon, Microsoft, and Meta—collectively invest over $220 billion annually in research and development. These firms are not just corporate giants; they are engines of progress, fueling advancements in AI, cloud computing, consumer electronics, and more.

Also, anti-big-tech climate may reduce incentives for start-ups too. Normally, one motivation for start-ups is the possibility of being acquired by a larger company if they succeed – a lucrative “exit”. If every big company is under fear of antitrust for acquiring smaller firms (as in the FTC’s post hoc challenge of Facebook’s Instagram purchase), big firms will refrain from acquisitions. That could mean fewer buyouts and less funding for start-ups, as VCs can’t count on M&A exits. Additionally, if companies fear that becoming too successful will invite government break-up, that could subconsciously dampen their expansion ambitions – though this is hard to quantify, it’s the kind of risk Commissioner Wilson alluded to: businesses might “reduce investment due to fear of too much success” if success itself is penalized.

Killing the Golden Goose

The U.S. tech sector has been an enormous engine of innovation and economic growth. Six tech-related industries drove 35% of U.S. GDP growth in the last decade. The tech industry promises to bring home $3.7 trillion in AI gains by 2030. It also creates high-paying jobs and knowledge spillovers. Overzealous regulation that hamstrings these firms could inadvertently slow innovation, reduce tech investment, and hurt consumers who benefit from rapid tech progress. The Information Technology & Innovation Foundation warns that instead of targeting these sectors, “policymakers should be celebrating their success and seeking to support them as they power even more growth,” not “complaining…and trying to throw sand in their gears.”

Global Stakes

There are also geopolitical implications. The U.S. has enjoyed a leading position in tech in part due to its historically light-touch regulation of the sector, allowing companies to grow and reinvest profits ambitiously. It has long been said that Europe regulates and America innovates. Europe’s tech sector has lagged in producing giants of its own, which some attribute to an environment less friendly to high-growth tech business models.

Now, technology leadership is a key battleground of international competition, especially between the U.S. and China. Chinese firms benefit from expansive state support—subsidized land, energy, and capital—while American companies rely on market-driven investment. Kneecapping successful U.S. firms could hand strategic advantages to foreign competitors. As one analyst put it, “Hurting Apple may help Huawei.” Not to say that U.S. companies are above the law due to nationality – but it does warrant a careful cost-benefit analysis.

Market Dynamism and the Limits of Regulation

Moreover, technology markets are uniquely dynamic - today’s dominant player can be disrupted by tomorrow’s new invention. In fact, in his decision, Mehta noted that Google (and search engines in general) now face serious competition from generative AI. The technology is gaining popularity with every demographic. AI chatbots, like ChatGPT and Bing Chat, offer an attractive alternative to traditional search. In such fast-evolving landscapes, market power can be transient, and aggressive regulation risks overshooting.

Diverting Enforcement Resources

Finally, there’s the issue of enforcement bandwidth. Resources spent pursuing speculative antitrust theories against popular tech platforms may come at the expense of addressing more direct consumer harms—such as price-fixing, fraud, or deceptive practices. Regulators must prioritize cases where the evidence of harm is clear and the consumer impact is tangible.

Recalibrating Antitrust

While antitrust enforcement plays a critical role in maintaining fair competition, it must be calibrated to avoid collateral damage. Punishing success without clear evidence of consumer harm risks chilling innovation, weakening global competitiveness, and misallocating regulatory focus. The goal should be to protect consumers—not to penalize companies for being very good at what they do. As Commissioner Wilson put it, “the sword [of enforcement] should be in a firm grip… ready to fall on those who create or maintain a monopoly through anticompetitive conduct, not… those who succeed by delighting consumers.”

Determined to not let that be the case, I hunted for ways to use past-prime rotisserie chicken. My search turned up several easy, tasty recipes to revive chilled chicken. Here are my favorites, ideal for throwing together on a weeknight with little prep and easy-to-find ingredients.

1. Chicken Quesadillas

This one barely requires a recipe. Flour tortillas, shredded cheese, pulled rotisserie chicken. You know what to do. If you aren’t sure, check out this recipe:

Easy Rotisserie Chicken and Cheese Quesadillas — The Mom 100

2. Chicken Noodle Soup

A classic American favorite. Perfect for chilly nights. This recipe calls for an Instant Pot or pressure cooker. But here is a similar version for the stovetop.

This recipe assumes you will be starting with raw chicken. To use rotisserie chicken, simply don’t add chicken to the pot in step 1. Shred the breast of the rotisserie chicken and add to the soup at the end.

Instant Pot Chicken Noodle Soup - The Pioneer Woman

3. Pozole

A healthy, hearty Mexican soup. Blender required.

This recipe assumes you will be starting with raw chicken. To use rotisserie chicken, simply don’t add chicken to the pot in step 1. Shred the rotisserie chicken (preferably the thighs) and add to the pot in step 4.

Pozole Verde - Isabel Eats

4. Enchiladas

I was leery of canned enchilada sauce, until I tried this recipe. Honestly on par with my local Mexican restaurant’s chicken enchiladas.

I prefer enchiladas with green sauce. But if you like red sauce, here’s a recipe for you (just skip the step where you cook the chicken).

Salsa Verde Chicken Enchiladas - Old El Paso

5. Asian-Inspired Chicken Salad

A no-cook meal, ideal for warmer days.

Chinese Chicken Salad - Laughing Spatula

6. Avgelomono (Lemon, Egg, Chicken Soup)

This Greek soup is great for anyone that loves lemons and doesn’t hate the idea of lemons + eggs. The traditional recipe only calls for chicken broth (and not chicken meat), but I prefer a higher protein, heartier variation.

This recipe assumes you will be starting with raw chicken. To use rotisserie chicken, simply skip step 1. Shred the rotisserie chicken (preferably breast) and add to the pot in step 7.

Avgolemono Soup - Serious Eats

7. Chicken Fajitas

I recommend using smoked paprika and corn tortillas. Finish with a squirt of lime.

Easy Chicken Fajitas - EatWell 101

A Note about Bone Broth

If you are intent on wasting none of your rotisserie chicken, you can use the bones to make broth. I personally have never done tried it, but it doesn’t sound hard. Here’s a sample recipe for rotisserie chicken bone broth:

The Easiest DIY Rotisserie Chicken Broth Recipe - This Mess is Ours

Hopefully these recipes alleviate some of your anxiety around making full use of your Costco rotisserie chicken. And don’t forget about even more common-sense meals, like sandwiches, caesar salad, nachos, etc. With a little bit of creativity, chicken waste is a thing of the past!

I also had the opportunity to go to Guilin. What Guilin lacked in infrastructure, it made up for in serenity and natural beauty. Arrowhead-shaped Karst mountains dot the landscape carved by the gentle Li River. I saw fields of yellow flowers in Yangshuo and steep rice terraces in Longsheng. The lush vegetation and clear waters left me doubting some of the narratives that we hear about China and their recklessness towards environmental conservation.

I was reluctant to leave. But I didn’t want to pull an Onijah Robinson. And I recognized that every place is better when you aren’t working. But I took with me some observations. In particular, here are six things that China is doing right and that I wish we had in the U.S.

1. Mobile Pay & Federated Apps

The thing I was most dreading about going to China was figuring out the payment situation. I heard that nobody takes cash, nobody takes credit card, they only use Alipay or WeChatpay. I downloaded both apps and couldn’t seem to add money to either. I imagined myself stranded, begging strangers to pay for my food in exchange for some filthy fiat.

But when I arrived, the apps magically worked! It turned out that while I wasn’t able to deposit money in my “account”, I was able to pay using my credit card connected to the apps.

After a few days, I whipping my phone out like a flasher in a shopping mall. It was so easy. Just open the app, open the camera, scan the vendor’s QR code, enter the amount, and done! I loved not having to deal with grimey cash or finding exact change. Everybody - from hotels, to taxi drivers, to vendors selling candied fruit on the sidewalk accepted mobile pay.

But these apps are so much more. WeChat can be used for messaging and sharing photos called “moments”. AliPay can be used to translate, check the exchange rate, book rideshare (DiDi), buy an eSIM, rent bikes, buy train tickets, make reservations, order food, read/write business reviews, watch C-dramas, and more. Businesses often have apps within AliPay, known as “mini apps”. If AliPay were the only app on your phone, you’d get by.

I found these centralized apps to be very convenient. No wondering which app to open. Just open AliPay and search for what you need.

2. Power Bank Network

Almost every shop and restaurant in China has a yellow box filled with power banks. You can use (you guessed it!) WeChat or AliPay to rent one to recharge your electronic devices. Just open the app’s camera feature and scan the QR code on the box. A power bank will eject. The power bank has USB-C, lightning, and USB-micro cables. So, regardless of what phone you have, the power bank will likely fit it. You pay by time and return the power bank when you are done.

But what makes this system so brilliant is that you can return the power bank to any box location. And, as mentioned, these boxes are everywhere! So, you don’t have to return to the shop where you originally rented the power bank. Just go on your merry way and stick it back in any yellow box you see.

3. Walkability

You really don’t need a car in China. And that’s not happenstance. Rather, it’s the result of urban planning. Shanghai has ample sidewalks, often lined by attractive landscaping, and crosswalks galore. The crosswalks have countdowns, quelling the fear that you are stuck in a time warp and will be waiting at the crosswalk 5ever. Streets in popular shopping areas, like Tianzifang and Yuyuan, are blocked off to cars, making for an optimal walking experience.

If you need to travel a longer distance, the public transportation system can get you nearly anywhere. Shanghai has a comprehensive metro and bus system. And the country is connected by a nation-wide high speed rail system.

If you want to go by car, DiDi, the local rideshare company, is suspiciously cheap. I did notice that almost all of my DiDi drivers were in electric vehicles, so maybe that explains it? (I do hope the drivers are making livable wages). DiDi drivers do ask you for the last four digits of your phone number when you get-in. So, consider learning those numbers in Chinese. Or if you stare at them blankly like I did, they’ll eventually just start driving.

4. Water Refill Stations

Everywhere. Free. Hot and cold water. Bring a bottle.

Public bathrooms are also ubiquitous, free, and clean.

5. No Tipping

People do not tip at restaurants, salons, spas, taxis, etc. in China. Yet, somehow the service is still good. I don’t know enough about Chinese culture or society to posit a theory as to how these seemingly contradictory conditions can exist. But it certainly makes eating out more affordable and pricing more transparent.

6. Safety

China just feels safe. I saw women walking alone at night, people leaving their bags on benches to run to the restroom, and shopkeepers barely keeping an eye on their wares.

I have been told that this is the result of the prevalence of cameras. Now, I understand this is a sensitive topic. Cameras can be a double edge sword. On one hand, you gain security, but on the other, you sacrifice privacy. I would personally be o.k. giving up some privacy to live in a country with one of the world’s lowest crime rates. But I haven’t thought deeply about the consequences of surveillance, and I’m being a little bit contrarian.

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that China is some paradise. There are ways in which China could learn from the U.S., as well. For example, spitting in public. Ick.

In conclusion, I wish I was still on vacation. There are so many places on my “to visit” list that I have yet to see, like Chengdu, Chongqing, Yunnan, and Harbin. I think it will take several trips to hit them all. But, I’m up for the challenge.

Depressed foot traffic has inflicted suffering not only on commercial landlords but, more importantly, on local businesses that add to Seattle’s charm. Steps away from Pike Place Market, retailers Danner, Free People, Royal Robbins and sandylew have departed. After more than a quarter-century on First Avenue, the art gallery Vetri announced its closure, stating: “small independent businesses like ours have to confront the problematic reality that while rents remain at downtown prices, the foot traffic we rely on isn’t what it used to be.”

The Modern, one of Selig’s downtown properties completed in 2020, was originally designed as a mix of offices and apartments. But even office mogul Selig has seen the writing on the wall; the Modern’s offices are currently being converted to apartments.

Last month, the Seattle Mayor’s Office and City Council adopted tax deferrals for the conversion of underutilized commercial properties to residential housing. Besides significant financial barriers, however, many modern office buildings are simply incompatible with residential conversion. Deep floor plates — long, narrow floor plans — occupied by interior cubicles and server rooms, create serious design issues for apartments, which require proximity to outward-facing windows for adequate natural lighting. Office plumbing and HVAC systems are centralized, whereas each apartment usually has its own bathroom, kitchen and thermostat.

The city of Seattle should think on its feet: For especially difficult-to-convert office buildings, classrooms and dormitories offer economic and logistically viable alternatives. Dormitories, like offices, typically have communal bathrooms and kitchens. Windowless interiors of office buildings can accommodate classrooms, reading and student group meeting rooms, music practice rooms, faculty and administrative offices, and a whole host of other uses. Expansion of academic institutions into downtown Seattle would generate much-needed foot traffic.

The dynamic, mixed-use nature of a college campus — where students sleep, study and socialize — means more around-the-clock activity and more demand for local restaurants, retailers, venues and cultural institutions like the Seattle Art Museum and Benaroya Hall. Foot traffic gains from students living and learning in downtown Seattle are further amplified by faculty and off-campus student commuters, members of the public attending community events, and visiting families.

International and out-of-state students bring outside sources of consumer spending and sales tax revenue to downtown Seattle. Provided that sufficient quantities of on-campus housing come from re-purposed office buildings, the student population wouldn’t adversely affect local housing supply. Student spending also helps to modulate downtown Seattle’s fluctuating tourist economy — the academic year almost perfectly dovetails with Seattle’s tourist season.

University campuses are already driving urban center economies across the country: A growing Georgia State campus “has definitely been a good thing for downtown Atlanta,” earning GSU the Marcus Downtown Economic Impact Award. Cornell Tech’s satellite campus on NYC’s Roosevelt Island supported 2,800 jobs. “Major strides in downtown San Antonio” by the University of Texas “create vibrant spaces that attract people and foster engagement.” Vanderbilt’s satellite graduate campus in West Palm Beach is expected to have a projected return on investment of “more than 20 to 1.”

Seattle leaders need to look no further than the University of Washington: U District foot traffic for September 2024 increased 34% compared to September 2019 levels — success that could be replicated four miles south. Seattle Office of Planning & Community Development this past November expressed interest in a Gensler study on converting Seattle offices into “co-living” spaces, which are functionally just dormitories.

As Washington lawmakers explore additional financial incentives for developers to convert offices into apartments, they should also strongly consider measures that invite universities to transform high-vacancy commercial properties into classrooms and campus housing. A satellite campus among the local businesses, corporate offices and cultural institutions of downtown Seattle would strengthen the virtuous cycles of innovation of Seattle’s knowledge economy and reinvigorate the neighborhood.

Originally published in the Seattle Times.

“Hey, man!” Sung-min emerged from somewhere behind Ji-hoon carrying a tray. Two slices of cake and a coffee cup sat atop.

“Woah, I didn’t even see you get here.” said Ji-hoon, startled.

Sung-min took the seat across from him. “Oh, I came in through the alley to the kitchen. I’m like their best customer lately, so they honor me with some perks.”

“Cool. So, are we celebrating something?” Ji-hoon asked, pointing at the cake.

“Nah, this is my pre-dinner.” Sung-min waved his hand dismissively. “An amuse-bouche, if you will.” He lifted a piece of cake to his mouth with two hands as if it were a slice of pizza. He took a bite and then extended it towards Ji-hoon.

“Uhh, I‘m good, thanks. So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Dude, I found a way to get us out of army service!”

“Really? How?” Ji-hoon asked excitedly.

“Well, more like a way to buy time. You heard what happened to BTS, right? They were topping charts internationally, basically acting as South Korea’s most effective diplomats. Forcing them to serve in their prime came at a high cost. So, they passed a law granting deferrals for pop group members.”

“Right, I know. And?”

“So, we can form a group!”

Ji-hoon searched Sung-min’s eyes for a hint of jest. But between bites of cake, he looked deadly serious. Ji-hoon’s heart sank. “We’re kind of old, don’t you think?”

“Psh. Says who?”

“And we don’t have any musical abilities.”

“What do you mean? You can break dance.” Sung-min had a point. “Come on, there’s no need to be humble about it. I’ve seen you bust a move. And your abs! When they’re looking at those they won’t even notice the receding hairline and crows feet.”

“Ok. So what about you?”

“I’ll be the face.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Harsh, man. I’ll figure something out.”

“We need more than two guys to have a group.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. You know my friend Jae? He can sing and he’s game. My cousin Carls says he’s down, too. Not because he wants to get out of service - he’s only 14 - but he’s been trying to break into the scene, become a trainee and all. He can rap. And he owes me for saving his life.”

“I didn’t know you had a younger cousin…What kind of name is Carls?”

“A name of ambiguous providence. A name with global appeal. So, are you in?”

“I don’t know.” Ji-hoon ran a hand through his hair and stared at the beret-shaped lid on Sung-min’s coffee cup. “I don’t even know where we’d begin. We’d have to compose songs, record, choreograph, perform, amass a social media following….”

“I’ll take care of all that.” said Sung-min, smugly.

“Ok. And we have to have a group name.”

“Pop group names are pretty arbitrary,” said Sung-min. “The more whimsical the better. Like…” Sung-min waved a finger around the cafe, searching, and landed on Ji-hoon’s glass. “Juice. That’s perfect!”

That night Sung-min sent Ji-hoon a link to a social media account he had created. By morning, the account was up to 13.4 billion followers, all with handles that were long strings of seemingly-random numbers and letters. All located in Jakarta. Ji-hoon packed his bookbag and puzzled over how much Sung-min paid for the ruse.

Lately, Ji-hoon had been despondent. What was the point of getting a PhD if he was just going to die on the battlefield? Nobody would remember him. Nobody would say “Oh, Ji-hoon! He was a pillar of the department, the one who created the automated object-oriented program refactoring algorithm (well, contributed five lines of code). Let’s name a building after him. Let’s erect a shrine in his memory, but we’ll have to post a guard 24/7 to protect it from all the young ladies that will come to perform lustful acts.”

His only glimmer of hope came from the emails he’d received from recruiters at tech companies interested in his research and asking if he’d consider working in industry. Some of the companies were located in South Korea, but a handful were abroad. He thought about applying for a U.S. visa, but he needed more time. And his 28th birthday, commensurate with his service deadline, was fast approaching.

Ji-hoon locked his apartment and headed to the train station. During lunch, he noticed a new message from Sung-min.

“A.I. babeee.”

Under the text was a link to an audio file. Ji-hoon popped-in his earbuds and pressed play. At first what he heard was indistinguishable from any boy band track, energetic pop with lush harmonies and a catchy melody, optimized for choreo. But as the song progressed, Ji-hoon realized he had never heard it before. And the longer he listened, the more he thought the main vocals sounded like Sung-min. Well, Sung-min if he was put through a vocal training bootcamp and autotune.

”Impressive!” Ji-hoon texted back. “What was your prompt?”

”Effervescent earworm with seductive male vocals in the style of Stray Kids with a touch of Fetty Wap.”

That night Sung-min called for a meeting at French Croissant. The cafe was closed, but Sung-min said that the manager didn’t mind if he used it as an afterhours gathering space. Ji-hoon was surprised to find the door unlocked and still no Sung-min in sight. He settled into a chair by the wall and scrolled through emails on his phone. Ji-hoon heard footsteps and looked up. A woman made her way up the stairs. She had short, glossy black hair with a subtle blue sheen. Matching blue eyeliner accented her sparkling eyes.

“H-h-ey,” Ji-hoon stuttered. “The cafe’s actually closed now. I, uh…”

“I know. Where’s Sung-min?” The woman asked with a voice octaves lower than Ji-hoon had anticipated.

”Oh, are you…?”

”I’m Jae.”

Ji-hoon introduced himself, still struggling to control his stutter. Jae took a seat next to Ji-hoon and Ji-hoon felt his cheeks redden. Somehow the revelation did nothing to put Ji-hoon at ease and the harder he tried to act smooth, the more he induced an episode of sudden onset restless leg syndrome.

Sung-min barreled-in carrying a box of audio equipment followed by a young boy with a bandana tied around his head, presumably Carls.

“Yo-o-o. Thanks for coming through, fam. Looks like everyone’s here.”

”Wait, aren’t there supposed to be five members?” asked Jae.

”There was, but the fifth member, who would have been Yong, declined on account of being a Christian.”

”What? Did you tell him the name of the group is spelled j-u-i-c-e?”

“Ohhh, right.” Sung-min placed a quick call to Yong who showed up shortly after. He was a clean-shaven guy with a wide smile revealing impossibly white teeth.

“I’m stoked to meet you all. And thanks again for inviting me to join. You know, as a pacifist I’ve been looking for a way to get out of service. I’m thinking this will give me enough time to get posted as a missionary.”

Sung-min made an inappropriate joke, which Yong tactfully ignored.

“I’ve been singing and playing guitar in my church’s band for, like, seven years. So I’ve got some skills I can lend to the group.”

They started by practicing the vocals for Sung-min’s original-with-the-assistance-of-AI song, which he informed them was entitled “Macaron Cherry Baby.” Jae and Yong tackled the soloist parts. Carls improvised some rap bars. When it came to the chorus, it all went downhill.

“Dude, who is whining like a donkey in heat?” asked Sung-min.

“That wasn’t you?” asked Jae. A down-the-line soundcheck revealed it was Sung-min, who agreed that lip-synching was his best option for live performance.

Every evening that week they convened at French Croissant and rehearsed. Practice progressed from unaccompanied vocals to vocals with instrumentals.

On Friday, Ji-hoon showed-up an hour early to work on choreography. He pushed the tables and chairs to the perimeter of the cafe. After a quick stretching session, Ji-hoon hit play on his phone and marked the steps. He stopped and started the track, working through some of the sticky transitions. He finally landed on a routine that satisfied him. Starting from the beginning of the song, he danced it all the way through. Finishing triumphantly, Ji-hoon air pumped and sank to his knees.

”Yeah! That was fire!” Jae hooted and applauded from the doorway.

”Gaaah!” Ji-hoon shot up like a rocket.

”Oh, crap. Sorry.”

”Gawd, you scared me. How long have you been standing there.”

”Oh, I walked in, like, mid-song. I didn’t want to interrupt. But, dude, that was sick. Can you show me how to do the thing where you skip to the side, then jump to the front, then throw your arms?”

”Ah, the Mansae.” Ji-hoon demoed the move.

”Yeah, that one!”

”Sure, so you’re going to start on one leg, then step behind with the other and shift your weight to that leg. Like a little trot. At the same time, you do a waving punching motion with your arms. After five of those, you hop 90 degrees. Bring your legs together, take four steps back while shimmying your shoulders. Then give a thumbs up, wave your arm, and swoop!”

Jae gave it a shot, but lost his balance on the jump. Ji-hoon caught him and helped him restabilize.

“Try tightening your core.”

Jae tried again.

”That’s it! Just make sure you travel in a straight line.”

Yong walked in “Woah, cool move. Is that part of the routine?”

”Yeah, do you think you can do it? Here, I’ll break it down for you.”

Yong executed the move almost perfectly.

”That was great. Now try it in the other direction,” Ji-hoon encouraged.

”O.k.!” Yong geared up to try again. This time he landed the jump, but backed into a table. Collapsing in pain, he hit his arm on a chair on the way down.

“Are you o.k., man?”

Yong lay on the ground, unmoving.

”Yong, hey.” Ji-hoon reached down and touched him.

Yong shrieked.

The gang breaked for a quick hospital run.

Yong was released with his arm in a sling. After the group learned Ji-hoon’s routine, Sung-min decided it was time to execute phase 2 of his plan - shoot a music video. He again insisted on self-producing. Sung-min was nothing if not resourceful. His job as an engineer at the power company paid well enough, but it was his philosophy to never pay someone to do something that he could do himself. And video editing was something he supposed he could do.

The Juice boys met up at Charlotte World, a mostly-indoor theme park adjoining a shopping mall. They chose a Wednesday afternoon, betting on it being less busy. In the bathroom, they changed clothes. They had decided on a biker look for the video and thrifted some leather jackets and jeans. Yong brought out a jar of hair gel, which they passed around and took turns applying.

“Come here,” said Jae, pulling Ji-hoon towards him. In his other hand, Jae held a sharpened stick of eyeliner.

“Wait, I’d rather not…,” protested Ji-hoon.

“Oh, come on. You’ll look so much more aegyo.”

“I think you’ve got the aegyo taken care of.”

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t offer.” Jae turned to the mirror and started lining his own eyes.

Yong gave up on trying to pull his leather jacket over his injured arm and settled for a vest instead.

“We gotta do something with that thing, man.” Sung-min said pointing to Yong’s sling. “I know! Give me sec.” Sung-min left the bathroom and returned a few minutes later with a sheet of adhesive rhinestones. The guys packed around Yong and placed rhinestones on the sling. When they finished, the rhinestones lined up to spell “Juice.”

As per Sung-min’s creative vision, Juice headed to the carousel, where they took turns filming each other bobbing up and down on lacquered animals for filler content. Then they went to the outdoor section of the park to get some roller coaster footage. Carls was barely tall enough to ride.

“Stand up straight, yo!” Sung-min admonished.

Carls uncoiled from his usual slouch and grew what looked like an inch. The attendant let him through.

To film the choreo, Sung-min set up a tripod and audio equipment in a vacant area of the food court. They did a few takes, but it became harder to get clear shots as a crowd formed, wanting to see what was going on. At the same time, the throng of smiling park goers bopping to their song energized them. Even though they had gathered enough footage, they continued dancing.

The show was interrupted by the arrival of a security guard. “Hey, I’m going to have to ask you not to do that here,” he said.

“Busted,” muttered Carls under his breath. Ji-hoon thought it was the first time he had heard him speak out of rap verse.

“It’s fine. We’re done here…,” said Sung-min. The group hastily bowed and waved at the onlookers before packing up.

“What’s going on with her?” asked Yong, gesturing to his left with a head tilt. The crowd had dispersed, but one girl stayed fixated on them from several meters away. Her stare was cold and hard. Only one of her eyes was visible, the other covered by a curtain of straight black hair.

“I dunno,” said Ji-hoon. “Maybe she’s confused. Or lost.”

“Creepy,” Yong muttered, shuddering and tapping his shoulders in the shape of a crucifix.

“Hey, wanna grab dinner?” Jae asked.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Ji-hoon responded.

“I’ve got worship band practice. But maybe next time!” Yong said.

“I need to get back to work,” Sung-min said. The other members of Juice raised their eyebrows in unison. “I’ve got some deadlines coming up and I’m way behind and stuff.”

“Uh, o.k.”

Carls resumed his slouch, nodded silently, and walked off toward the elevators.

Ji-hoon shrugged. “Well, looks like it’s just us. Where do you wanna go?”

They settled on a tofu house just outside the mall. The restaurant had dim lighting and booths resembling huts with thatched roofs and enclosed by walls on all but one side. They ordered tofu soup, hot stone bulgogi, and a pancake to split.

“Sung-min was being weird. He never works past 5 p.m.” Ji-hoon mused.

“Yeah, I’m calling b.s.” Jae concurred. “What do you think he’s up to?”

“Maybe he’s just in a hurry to get the music video edited and released.”

“Could be. But he’s usually down to eat whenever.”

“I bet he’s playing Starcraft.”

They both chuckled as their soup arrived.

“So, why are you doing this?” Ji-hoon asked.

Jae blew on his spoon and raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, like, why did you join the group? Why are you trying to get out of service?”

“Ohhh.” Jae paused, thinking. “I guess to start fresh. To get away.”

“From what? I bet girls are, like, all over you.”

“Sure, but that’s not really the issue. I’m not good at anything. I think I’m kind of a dabbler. Growing up, I could never stay interested in anything for long. I would play soccer for a few years, then get sick of it. I asked my parents to sign me up for guitar lessons. But it was harder than I expected, and I guess I didn’t want it badly enough. I’ve been consistent with video games. But you can’t exactly call that a vocation.”

Ji-hoon nodded. “I know what you mean. I feel terminally-mediocre. And I don’t want to die being mediocre.”

“Right.”

“Maybe I’m a late-bloomer, but I don’t think 28 years is enough time to get my footing. To make my mark.”

“You’re 28?” Jae asked, aghast.

“Well, almost.”

“You old man!”

“How old are you?

“Guess.” Jae smirked.

“26.”

“Nope.”

“25.”

“Nope.”

“What? I shouldn’t even be hanging out with you!”

Realizing Charlotte World was still open, the two went back for another round of rides. After they got sufficiently splashed in the Nile River Rapids, Jae pointed at a booth selling headbands sprouting animal ears.

“Yo, let’s get some!”

Ji-hoon picked out a pair of black cat ears and propped it on Jae’s head.

“This one suits you.”

Jae checked himself out in a mirror and beamed. “Hmm, which one for you? How about..these!” Jae grabbed a pair of white rabbit ears and stuck them on Ji-hoon.

Ji-hoon grimaced. But before he could protest, Jae was dragging him to the Comet Express. The roller coaster launched, sending them up a loop before plunging underground into complete darkness. They screamed, holding onto each other, feeling as if they would crash at any moment. When the cart emerged above ground and into the sunlight, they let out their breaths and laughed.

“Remind me never to stuff myself before riding this thing,” said Jae, holding his stomach as they stumbled off the ramp.

After Sung-Min uploaded the music video, Juice’s social media following and download count soared. Hundreds of people liked and commented on the video.

“Sleeper hit,” wrote one person.

“Song of the summer,” wrote another.

But not all of the comments were positive.

“Juice is bravely challenging beauty norms,” read one comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean!?!” Sung-min raged.

Another comment was even less delicate: “I’m all for body positivity, but these are the ugliest dudes I’ve seen in a pop group. Only one is even close to aegyo.”

“I told you!” Jae said. “You’ve got to wear makeup. I don’t care if you wanna wear it to school or work or whatever. But it’s an industry norm. We have to look the part or someone’s going to catch on. Then they’ll make an example of us by sending us to Pyongyang to file Kim Jong’s calluses for the rest of our lives.”

“Ok, ok. You’re right,” said Sung-min, defeated. “Paint me.”

The next practice was spent practicing makeup application. Jae beamed, observing his work. Juice was transformed. Where there once was a gaggle of tech bros and squares, there stood a row of ethereal beings with dewy complexions and winged eyes. Except for Carls, who looked more like an evil doll or a contestant in a child beauty pageant.

“Amazing,” said Yong, admiring his reflection. “I barely recognize myself. What’s the face paint called, again?”

“Concealer,” replied Jae. “No, don’t rub your eye!”

A large track mark ran from Sung-min’s eyelid to his cheek.

“Oh, shoot. Mmm, maybe if I rub the other one they’ll be symmetrical.”

“We’re going for BTS, not Kiss!” said Jae.

“The real question is,” Ji-hoon started, facing Jae. “What do you look like without makeup?”

“That, you will never know…” Jae teased, smiling with an air of mystique.

Later that week, the group was contacted about performing at the Han River Summer Festival. They agreed without hesitation and began work on new songs and choreography.

“T minus 10 days until the festival,” Yong said jubilantly as he walked into the cafe.

“Ugh, I know. We still have so much to do. Maybe we should extend our practices this week to 3 hours.”

Carls sneered.

Their phones chimed in unison. A message from Sung-min.

“Sorry for the last minute, but I’m not gonna make it tonight. Have to stay at work to finish a few things.”

“Weird,” Ji-hoon remarked.

“Well, I’m glad he’s finally taking work seriously,” Yong added.

“I’m not buying it,” said Ji-hoon. “Did any of you notice he’s been wearing makeup lately?”

“Yeah, we agreed that we should…”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Even when he’s not doing Juice activities, he’s been wearing a bit of lip balm.”

“I don’t think that counts as makeup.”

“Ok, but it’s Sung-min. I don’t even think the guy even showers more than once a month.”

Juice proceeded to rehearse without Sung-min. The following night he showed up and it was as if nothing had happened.

The day of the festival came, and the Juice boys approached the back of the amphitheater, where an attendant ushered them into the dressing room. There, they did hair and makeup and changed into oversized, knock-off streetwear. Carls clipped a chain to his pant loops.

“You’re going to regret that,” warned Sung-min.

They stood in the wing, as the other groups performed, and waited for their turn. Ji-hoon craned to look at the audience. It wasn’t huge, but it was bigger than any group he had been in front of before. He heard his heart in his ears.

“It’s going to be o.k.,” Jae whispered. “We got this.”

Ji-hoon inhaled deeply and nodded.

“Our next performance is by a pop group that recently debuted. They are self-managed and making waves online with their latest single ‘Lemon Tart Lover.’ Please give a round of applause for Juice!”

The audience clapped as Juice bound across the stage.

The performance went off without a hitch, except when Carl’s legs got caught in his chain and he tripped. But he played it off as intentional. They finished, panting, sustained by the applause.

As they filed off the stage, Ji-hoon noticed a girl in the audience watching them intensely with only one eye visible. She looked familiar. Then it sank in. It was the girl from Charlotte World.

On the way to the dressing room, they exchanged high-fives and back slaps. Ji-hoon followed, but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.

“Did any of you notice that the girl from Charlotte World was here today? She was at the front, stage left.”

“Seriously? That’s so creepy.”

“Bruh, we’re not famous enough to have groupies.”

“What do you think she wants? Doesn’t seem like a coincidence that we’ve seen her twice.”

“Wtf!?!” erupted Sung-min. “Why are you being such assholes?”

“What? Do you know her?”

“That’s my girlfriend.”

The guys started at Sung-min, mouths agape.

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I knew you’d act like this.”

“No, we didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to get murdered by a stalker.”

“Aecha doesn’t care about your ugly ass.”

“Why is her hair like that? Like, covering half her face?”

“Because she’s got a lazy eye. The doctor gave her an eyepatch to cover her dominant eye so that the weak one would get stronger. But it was uncomfortable, so she just uses her hair instead.”

“Ohhh.” They murmured in understanding.

“Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, congrats, man.”

“How did you meet?”

“French Croissant. She’s the manager.”

Sung-min brought Aecha to the next practice. Aside from her inability to smile, she was nice. She sat in a corner reading a manhwa, looking up occasionally, and applauding when they finished.

A few weeks later, Juice received an invitation to perform on a local news station. Everyone was psyched except Sung-min. He said he would explain at the next practice.

“I’m enlisting.”

“Whaat?” They were stunned.

“I don’t want to leave Aecha, so I’m staying in South Korea. I’ll have to serve sooner or later. Might as well get it over while I’m young-ish.”

“That sucks, but I can’t blame you,” said Jae.

“Well, the group definitely won’t be the same without you,” said Yong.

“I know. I’m sorry to do this to y’all. But I will bequeath you the equipment and the audio files. I’m sure you can figure out how to use it. It’s not that hard.”

The others look downtrodden. They left French Croissant before completing the practice, needing time to process the news.

The next day they were back at it. Sung-min stopped by to hand-off the key and help them set-up the equipment.

“Aecha said you can keep practicing here.”

But barely another week passed before they were dealt another blow.

“I found out I can serve as a chaplain!” announced Yong.

He was met with looks of confusion from the other members.

“I didn’t want to serve if it meant I would have to engage in violence. But chaplains almost never take up arms.”

Ji-hoon put his face in his hands. “Does this mean you’re leaving us, too?”

“Well, eventually. I can still join you for the 9News performance.”

“I mean, I get it,” said Ji-hoon. “This was never meant to be a permanent solution.”

“If you want to recruit new members, I can put out a line.” Yong offered.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Jae accompanied Ji-Hoon back to his apartment. The mood was sullen and neither wanted to be alone.

“We need at least two more guys. Anybody would do, but if they are good with tech or can play instruments, that would be ideal.”

“I could probably message some people I went to high school with. Though to be honest, I haven’t been good about keeping in touch with them. Is there anyone you sang with in the past that you think would be down?”

“Maybe. I think the hard part is not as much finding people who have skills but finding people who want to be part of the gimmick. You know? Most people our age have already served.”

Ji-hoon shook his head. “Time’s running out for us, too. Maybe we should be spending less time on Juice and more time ironing out a long-term plan.”

They entered Ji-hoon’s apartment and sank on the couch, exhausted. They passed a few minutes in silence, thinking.

Jae sat up abruptly. “Call me crazy, but the army is seeming so bad. In a way it’s not so different from Juice - just a lot of time spent with guys with bad hygiene.”

Ji-hoon scoffed.

Jae continued. “We’ve benefited from it, too. We’re safe because others have served. Maybe it’s our turn to do our part. As South Koreans.”

“Maybe.” Ji-hoon stared at the ground. “What if we do it together?”

Jae raised an eyebrow.

“What if we enlist together, at the same time, place, and choose the same branch, sector, specialty…? Maybe we’d get stationed together.”

“Well…we can try,” Jae said.

“Sung-min, too!”

“Dude, I’m not bunking with his stinky ass.”

“But showers are mandatory in the military.”

“That’s true,” Jae sighed, his smile growing. “So…it looks like Juice is joining the Army.”

It was a Wednesday morning and Ms. Hill was weaving around the rows of desks, handing out a paper to each student. Amelia wasn’t sure what class they were in since Ms. Hill taught almost all their classes. All except music, PE, and computers. But she knew that it was a gifted class.

Amelia wasn’t sure what “gifted” meant. Her mom’s friend had told them that the gifted classes had better teachers and better-behaved students. So, Amelia’s mom took her to see a psychologist who observed her play with toys and then wrote a letter saying that she could join. The gifted class was smaller than the non-gifted class and had almost no Black kids. Amelia wondered if psychologists didn’t like Black people, or maybe Black people didn’t like psychologists.

Ms. Hill walked to the front of the classroom, her clogs squeaking against the linoleum. Her flaxen hair spilled over her forehead in a thick bang with side pieces tucked behind her ears. In a brown shift dress, she reminded Amelia of one of those ponies with the small bodies and big heads.

“Does everyone have a worksheet?” Ms. Hill asked, scanning the room for nods of confirmation. “Ok, these are questions for our interview project. I want you to use them as a starting point for a conversation with your parents. Or grandparents, or aunts, or uncles. Some older family member. We want to learn about experiences that they had growing up and how those experiences shaped them. Then I want you to pick one of those experiences and share it with the class.”

Amelia found her mother in the backyard standing on a ladder. She was holding a picker basket and waving it at an orange tree.

“Can you help me with a project?” Amelia asked. “I’m supposed to ask one of my parents about their life experiences. Like, from your childhood, or with your family, or something.”

“Ask Daddy. He’s had more experiences,” said her mom without looking down.

She pointed the picker basket towards an orange and, seeing it nestled in the basket’s teeth, gave it a yank. The orange tore off the branch and the reverberation sent more oranges and leaves flying.

“Don’t we have enough? There’s a bunch of oranges in the kitchen already.”

“Yeah, but if we don’t pick them, they fall on the ground and rot. So, we have to keep doing it. Watch out. Don’t get hit.”

Amelia always asked her mother for help with homework, but lately her patience for the assignments seemed to be waning. Amelia wondered if she regretted putting her in gifted. Then she remembered that her maternal grandparents had passed away when her mother was only a child and felt bad for asking.

Amelia brought the worksheet to the living room where her father was watching the news. She took a seat next to him on the couch and waited for a commercial break. But he turned down the volume when he saw her.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She told him about the project and showed him the worksheet.

“Another project? Let me see.” He looked over the paper. Then he thought for a while, staring at the ground and chewing on a hangnail.

“Mm, how about this? Every summer my family would drive across the bridge to Canada. All six of us. We’d rent out a cabin. A very rustic one, like a log cabin, without electricity or bathrooms or anything. So, we’d bring a bunch of blankets in case it got cold at night. And for food, we’d bring beans n’ weenies, you know the ones in the cans. And smores and we’d heat them up over a campfire.”

“One second. Let me write this down,” Amelia said.

The following Monday Ms. Hill stood at the front of the room with a glass jar filled with slips of paper. On each slip, she had written a student’s name. Amelia noticed that Ms. Hill was wearing a sweater and wondered how she wasn’t dying of heat. It had the words “Agnes Scott College” printed across the chest. Amelia wondered if Ms. Hill had actually gone to school there or if she had found the sweater in the lost & found bin that sat outside the principal’s office. Amelia had seen other students take things from the bin. Not gifted students, of course. On one occasion, she spotted a lacy bra poking out from the pile of garments. It was the kind with a front-facing clasp and an underwire. After making sure that nobody was looking, she plucked it out and stuffed it in her backpack.

Ms. Hill reached her hand in the jar. She gave the slips a swirl before pulling one out.

“Alex.”

Alex was very blonde. “Too blonde,” Amelia thought, not knowing the word for towhead. Alex had a seemingly boundless reserve of energy which manifested in his enthusiasm for every class activity, group punishment, and human interaction; the result, Amelia posited, of having parents that never fought.

Alex sprang from his seat and bound to the front of the classroom. He turned to face the other students and cleared his throat. He didn’t have any notes, Amelia noticed. Instead, he fixed his gaze in the direction of Ms. Hill.
“My grandfather was just a boy and living in the old country. One day, his mother asked him to go to the market to buy a loaf of bread. She gave him a quarter and a sack with some lunch. They lived deep in the woods and the market was in the village, miles away. So, the journey would take at least half a day. He started to walk down the path heading to the village when he was stopped by an old peddler. The peddler asked him where he was going. He told him that he was going to the market to buy a loaf of bread. The peddler looked at the quarter in my grandfather’s hand. ‘I’ll tell you what. Since you’re such a good boy, I’ll give you two dimes for that quarter.’ ‘Gee, thanks!’ my grandfather said. And he gave the peddler the quarter in exchange for the two dimes.’” Alex spoke fluidly, only pausing occasionally for dramatic effect. Amelia was impressed. He sounded like the narrator of a play. “My grandfather kept walking down the path when he was met by a gypsy woman. She saw the two dimes in his hand and stopped him.
‘Little boy, what shiny dimes you have! They would look marvelous on a chain. If you give me your dimes, I’ll give you three nickels in return.’ My grandfather couldn’t believe his luck and he hurried to make the trade. He was almost to the edge of the woods when a soldier came down the path.
‘You shouldn’t be walking in these woods alone, little boy,’ the soldier said.
‘It’s o.k.,’ my grandfather told him. ‘I walk down this path every Saturday to get bread from the market.’
‘Does a little boy like you even have money for bread?’ asked the soldier.
‘I’ve got three nickels!’ My grandfather replied with pride.
‘You’re going to need more than that to get bread. Here, let me give you four pennies for those nickels.’ My grandfather accepted and thanked the soldier. Soon he reached the edge of the woods and started on the village road. He was heading towards the market when he was stopped by a priest.
‘Little boy, do you have any money to spare for the church?’ My grandfather looked at his pennies. ‘I have four pennies, but I need them to buy bread for my mother.’ ‘You can’t buy bread for four pennies! Is that all that your mother gave you?’ the priest asked.
‘She actually only gave me one quarter. But I traded it for two dimes, and the two dimes for three nickels, and the three nickels for four quarters.’ ‘I’m sorry to tell you son, but you’ve been duped. You can’t buy bread with four pennies and your mother will be very angry with you. You should give those pennies to the church, instead. You still won’t have bread. But at least that way I can pray for you and ask the lord to spare you from a spanking.’”

Laughter broke out across the classroom. “And that is why my grandfather is an atheist to this day.”

More laughter followed. And then applause. Alex bowed.

“Nicely done, Alex.” Ms. Hill signaled for him to return to his seat. “Ok, let’s see who’s next.” She reached into the jar. “Amelia.”

Amelia rose cautiously, clutching her note cards. She made her way to the front of the class.

“Umm, o.k. When my dad was a kid he lived in Detroit. Canada was just across the border. So, sometimes his family would go there for the weekend and stay in a cabin. It was a log cabin, without electricity or water. So, they’d use blankets to stay warm and cook food using a campfire. There was a lake by the cabin and sometimes they would go swimming.

One time my dad and his brothers and sister were out playing at the lake. Suddenly he realized he couldn’t see them and he didn’t know where they went. But it was getting cold, and he was getting hungry.

So he walked back to the cabin alone. But when he opened the door, he didn’t recognize anyone. There were people there, but they weren’t his family. He asked them who they were. Suddenly he remembered that there were a bunch of cabins around the lake, and they all looked pretty much the same. And he realized he had gone to the wrong one. He turned and ran out of there as fast as he could. He was so embarrassed. But a lot of time has passed, and he doesn’t feel weird about it anymore. He just thinks it’s funny.”

Amelia glanced at Ms. Hill, hoping for a cue to go sit down.

Ms. Hill stood motionless. She appeared to be thinking.

“Amelia, I’m going to need you to redo your assignment. Ok? We learned that a story has four elements: characters, a setting, a conflict, and a resolution. Yours had the first three, but it didn’t have a resolution. So, I want you to go home and talk to your parents some more. Try to prepare a story that has all those components.”

At home, Amelia’s Father was confused. “What was wrong with the story?”

“She said that it didn’t have a resolution,” she replied. “Do you have one that does?”

“This class.” He shook his head. “Why aren’t they teaching you multiplication or state capitals or something?”

“Because it’s English class.”

“Ok, let me think.”

He leaned forward and stared at a spot on the ground, his forehead tensing. Then he sat up.

“Ok, I think I’ve got one. Do you want to take notes?”

When the time came to present, Amelia didn’t need her notes. So she left them on her desk. She glanced around the room, making sure that she had everyone’s attention before starting.

“My Father had always planned on going to Michigan State when he finished high school. But he ended up going into the Army, instead. He was assigned to a group called “the Army Corps of Engineers.”

The Army Corps of Engineers built roads and bridges in Vietnam. Sometimes they fixed ones that were already there. Sometimes they built new ones. And sometimes they blew things up to trap the enemy or clear out an area.

Paved roads, like cement or asphalt roads, were new to some of the parts. The locals weren’t really sure what their purpose was. So, at night, old men would gather on the roads and just hang out, squatting and talking. The streets didn’t have much light, which made it hard to see.

One night a convoy - that means a group of trucks - from my father’s platoon was driving down a road when they ran over one of these old men. It was an accident, of course. So, they stopped and got out to have a look.

My dad said that when they got to the body, it was nothing but a mound of pulp, like a stew of raw meat and rags. There was almost no one else around. The other old men who had been on the scene just scrammed as soon as the soldiers got out.

The platoon members argued about what they should do. They decided the easiest thing would be to just get rid of the body. That would save them all the hassle of filling out paperwork and reporting it to the local government.

So, they scooped the remains of the man into bags and hauled them back to their camp. They waited until the next day when they were pouring concrete. And while it was still wet, they tossed it in the bags.

But this was bad. You see, my dad says the Vietnamese believe that a person must be properly buried to have a peaceful afterlife. Otherwise, the dead person’s soul will wander the Earth. So, by burying him this way, the way they did, they were dooming him to an eternity in Hell.

The U.S. military used this belief against the North Vietnamese. It was a scare tactic. When they were on their way to fight, they would play recordings of voices that sounded like ghosts. The voices would tell the enemy that they were back from the dead and to go home or end up like them, trapped in endless suffering. Sometimes it worked.

But when my dad heard the recordings, he heard something else - an old man’s voice whispering ‘you did this.’

And it turns out that the old man had his revenge, after all. A week after my dad transferred platoons, his old platoon was ambushed. Not a single soldier survived.

So, my dad was pretty lucky. But he didn’t make it out without scars. He still hates driving at night. And whenever he hears whispers, he thinks of that old man.”

Amelia started towards her desk. But she stopped and turned.

“Oh, I guess that story didn’t really have a resolution, either. But my dad said that - in real life - not all stories have resolutions.”

Amelia smiled at Ms. Hill. She had never felt more gifted.

Lately Mexican Twitter is awash with photos of fuzzy animals sporting cottage-core outfits and wide-set black eyes. They are overlaid by text expressing sassy or nihilistic sentiments. The recent trend features “Ternurines”, toys from the Sylvanian Families line. The dolls are small, ranging from 3.2-7.5 cm in height, and covered in a thin layer of synthetic fur. They come in a range of species - bears, koalas, giraffes, elephants, kangaroos, otters, all anthropomorphic with jointed arms and legs.

Sylvanian Families are not new. They actually debuted in Japan in 1985, a creation of Japanese toy maker Epoch. They entered North American markets later that year sold under the name “Calico Critters”.

“Ternurin” is not an official name for the toys. Rather, it’s a derivative of the word “Ternura”, which means “tenderness” or “affection”. “Ternurin” translates to something along the lines of “little tender one”. The origin of the name is uncertain. Though, it’s possible that the moniker was lifted from a different line of sort-of-similar-looking toys sold in Mexico by the company Honey Bee Acres and co-opted as an umbrella term for all toys made of flocked plastic, including Sylvanian Families.

But it wasn’t until recently that Ternurines took Mexican social media by storm. It appears that the mash-up of the adorably homely critters with saucy messages is a formula for comic success. And now the tiny edgelords are all over Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok.

But it’s possible that Ternurin memes are more than a format that derives humor from irony. Likely, they are a coping mechanism. Kids who played with Sylvanian Families in their golden age are now adults in their 30’s or 40’s. Besides the usual adult responsibilities, they are facing a post-pandemic world marked by global conflict, a mental health crisis, and environmental destruction. In Mexico, organized crime, corruption, and poverty are a constant undercurrent.

Nostalgia is a common response to distressing negative emotions. Memories of happier or simpler times can provide comfort. It offers a temporary respite from the uncertainty and stress of the present. For Millenials, Ternurines are fur-covered time machines.

But unlike older generations, Millennials don’t have to dig through their parents’ basements to evoke nostalgia. Psychologist Mark Travers wrote that “the digital age has revolutionized the way we express and engage with our nostalgic impulses.” Indeed, with mobile devices and the internet, relics of childhood are only a click-away. Social media functions as crowd-sourced archives of nostalgia, with users swapping media and memories.

Enter Ternurines.

Ale Higareda, of the website Malvestida, describes her Ternu-experiencia:

“Amidst a wave of news that predicts the end of the world, and does nothing more than trigger the 87th anxiety attack of the month, a visual oasis appears on the front of my cell phone screen: the image of a tiny toy bunny, covered in a soft layer of suede and a green floral dress. It is one of the Ternurines.”

Yet, Ternurines aren’t pure escapism. In contrast to Disney remakes or Nintendo 64 games, most Ternurin memes don’t evade Millennial problems. They confront them head-on. The posts explore themes such as financial struggles, dysfunctional relationships, and existential dread. In a sense, Ternurin memes are the lovechild of Millenial nostalgia and Mexican Twitter humor at-large, self-aware as ever.

Perhaps, in addition to the nostalgia factor, their animal likeness makes Ternurines the perfect vehicle to broach uncomfortable, adult topics. The depiction of our daily struggles, caricatured by what are essentially miniature furries, reveals the triviality of the situations. The dopey dolls offer a dose of levity to treat Millennial malaise.

🙊 pic.twitter.com/2UiX0ZdLUb

— Mrs. Lovett (@BettLovett) August 3, 2024

Caption says: “It’s incredible how far you can go when you use your credit card improperly. Greetings from Cancun.”

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Ternurimemes (@ternurimemes.oficial)

Caption says: “This isn’t the life I wrote about in my project in middle school”

Yes, Ternurines have taken to Tik Tok, too.

@happyternurin Y arriba el norte 🤠✨ #sylvanianfamilies #sylvanianfamiliescollection #sylvanian #ternurines #calicocritters #fyp #stopmotion #lachona ♬ La Chona - Los Tucanes De Tijuana

Ternurines dancing to Norteño music.

@bealsf Ningún sylvanian fue lastimado en la grabación de este video‼️ #larosadeguadalupe #sylvanianfamilies #Ternurines #humor #fyp #calicocritters ♬ sonido original - Brayan.galllero

Ternurines reenacting a famous scene from the Mexican telenovela “Rosa de Guadalupe”

In a display of life imitating social media, the Ternurin craze has spilled onto the streets of Mexico. Ternurines can now be found at street markets, known as “tianguis”. YouTuber Merlin Plus posted a video showing her trip to the tianguis of Mexico City to buy her first Ternurin. She peruses various stands selling the dolls, some suspiciously sold in unmarked plastic baggies. But what stuns is the vast assortment of accessories the vendors offer for the toys. They have every piece of furniture imaginable, alongside miniature cookware, appliances, food, gardening gear, you-name-it, all in exquisite detail.

Near Mexico City’s Balderas Metro station, an enterprising couple set up a Ternurin-inspired popsicle stand. Called “Ternu Paletas”, they offer frozen doppelgangers for the dolls in flavors like tamarind, maracuya, chili-strawberry, mango, and peach. But the crown jewel is undoubtedly their iconic axolotl Ternu-popsicle, a uniquely Mexican spin on the toys.

Relevant again, Ternurines’ peaceful invasion of Mexican social media and street culture shows no signs of slowing down. Carried-in by the cultural tides, the toys have made a comeback to accompany their playmates, now adults, in navigating challenges with resilience and humor. And fur.