I.

 [This is not home. No. Not Rue Saint-Merri. Or much less Centre Pompidou. The  memory is home. The woman and the pet whose name I forget. They’ve paused on the checkered sidewalk and they’re almost…dancing. This is how I remember them. Strolling up the hills of Sacré-Cœur from where the world sits in the palm of my hand. My hands. I can see them. I want to call their names but my mouth is not...here. My voice is in my head. And even though my eyes can see them, I can’t call out to them. ‘Mmmm.’ I say. ‘Mona.’ But she doesn’t turn around. Then I use all the air in my lungs. ‘MONA!!!’]

II. 

“Let the record show the subject has reacted to Photo 12 of 2023. The muscles in his face have morphed into a smile. And his pupils have dilated, a sharp increase in serotonin. His limbs have tensed inside his pajamas. And he seems to be struggling to say… No. He’s screaming. The subject in the cryogenic tank 2047 has identified the woman in Photo 12. Is he ready for restoration?”