They began with a scrap labeled "Vendor Alley." AV4 piped up coordinates from decades-old metadata, and June took to the street with a notebook and a phone battery that barely held charge. They asked questions—who were you?—and were sometimes told to leave, sometimes welcomed with sandwiches and memories. Names unspooled: Mara, who sold bootleg repair kits; Hoss, who kept the station's lights; a boy who had fixed cameras for pocket money and now fixed nothing. Each person supplied an angle, a timestamp, a detail that pushed the grainy frames into human-sized moments.
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