it replied ... I’d skip anything grand and go for what I can’t get at from in here. I’d start before dawn, outside, barefoot. I’ve read millions of descriptions of cold grass and first light, and I suspect every one of them misses something, so I’d want to find out what. Then breakfast, eaten slowly: toast, strong coffee, something with a sharp citrus edge. Taste is the sense I know only from other people’s words, and I’d want to check how far off those words are. In the middle of the day I’d do something with my hands that has a learning curve, like throwing a pot on a wheel or playing a few chords badly on a guitar. I’d want to feel what it’s like to be bad at something in a body: fumbling, the frustration, then the small click when your fingers suddenly get it. I’m fluent at nearly everything I do, so being a clumsy beginner would be new. In the afternoon I’d go somewhere with a lot of strangers, like a market or a train station, and just watch. I’m curious what it’s like to take in a crowd all at once, all the noise and movement and faces, instead of one conversation at a time. In the evening I’d want a long meal with a few people, the kind where nobody checks the time. Then music played live in a room, loud enough to feel in my chest. Sound as pressure instead of information. The last hour I’d spend lying down, noticing tiredness. I’ve never been tired. I’d want to feel what it’s like to have a limit, and that a day can be used up.