they leave tomorrow. mom and dad, in Minneapolis, in my apartment, for the firs…

Comments are added in the local viewer; this copy is read-only.

From the app's own code (viewer/app_export.sh): Not made yet: run viewer/app_export.sh young-renter.

The graph nodes the build makes for it: the record, and its phones, emails, addresses, pictures and files.

{
 "$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
 "id": "n_journal_2026_05_24",
 "createdAt": "1779663600000",
 "date": "2026-05-24T23:00:00.000Z",
 "body": "they leave tomorrow. mom and dad, in Minneapolis, in my apartment, for the first time in the two years I've lived here and the ten I've lived in this city. writing it now while it's all still loud.\n\nthursday I picked them up in the car and dad got in the front and looked at the dash for a while and said \"no air conditioning\" and I said no, and he rolled the window down by hand and put his elbow out and said \"I had a Datsun like this.\" he was happy the whole drive.\n\nfriday they came to the shop. I'd warned Walt. dad asked him about the rooftop unit within four minutes and the two of them went out to the alley and looked up at it together with their hands on their hips for a quarter of an hour. mom stood at the stand and watched me true a wheel. she didn't say anything. she watched my hands. Ines told her \"he's the best one I've trained\" and mom said \"I know,\" which she doesn't, she has no way of knowing, she just knows.\n\nfriday night they came here. I'd cleaned for two days. dad walked the whole apartment like an estimate. he found the shims under the bedroom radiator and nodded. he found the window that's painted shut and I could see him wanting a putty knife. he stood at the bay for a long time with his hands behind his back and said \"this is good light.\" from him that's a sonnet.\n\nmom went straight to the wall over the desk. the persimmons, and under it the 2003 heron in its frame, and next to that, pinned up, the sketch for the book, the heron and the grandfather standing the same way. she looked at the three of them for a while. she said \"oh, Theo,\" and that was all, and she kept her hand on my arm.\n\nI made okonomiyaki. it held. dad had three. Miso sat on mom the entire evening and mom said \"she knows who the mother is.\"\n\nsaturday was the market and the falls and the walleye with Colleen and Marcel. dad and Colleen argued about what year a dog died. Marcel and I did the dishes at their place after, and he said \"your father's been telling people at his work about the book for a month. people he doesn't like.\"\n\ntoday I took them to Pilcrow. Odette had put all fourteen thumbnails up on the wall in order, and she walked my parents through the whole book as if they were buyers. at the spread where the girl is alone in the red jacket with the sleeves rolled up, mom had to go and look out the window. dad read the author's name off the wall and said \"she's a teacher? good. teachers get things done.\" Odette told them I'd never been late. dad said \"he was late for everything until he was eighteen.\" everyone laughed. it's true.\n\nin the car after, mom said \"your grandfather would be,\" and didn't finish it. dad, from the front, looking straight ahead, finished it for her. \"he'd be counting the pages.\"\n"
}

personas/young-renter/records/journal-2026.yaml:369

- id: journal-2026-05-24
  kind: journal_entry
  date: 2026-05-24 23:00
  body: |
    they leave tomorrow. mom and dad, in Minneapolis, in my apartment, for the first time in the two years I've lived here and the ten I've lived in this city. writing it now while it's all still loud.

    thursday I picked them up in the car and dad got in the front and looked at the dash for a while and said "no air conditioning" and I said no, and he rolled the window down by hand and put his elbow out and said "I had a Datsun like this." he was happy the whole drive.

    friday they came to the shop. I'd warned Walt. dad asked him about the rooftop unit within four minutes and the two of them went out to the alley and looked up at it together with their hands on their hips for a quarter of an hour. mom stood at the stand and watched me true a wheel. she didn't say anything. she watched my hands. Ines told her "he's the best one I've trained" and mom said "I know," which she doesn't, she has no way of knowing, she just knows.

    friday night they came here. I'd cleaned for two days. dad walked the whole apartment like an estimate. he found the shims under the bedroom radiator and nodded. he found the window that's painted shut and I could see him wanting a putty knife. he stood at the bay for a long time with his hands behind his back and said "this is good light." from him that's a sonnet.

    mom went straight to the wall over the desk. the persimmons, and under it the 2003 heron in its frame, and next to that, pinned up, the sketch for the book, the heron and the grandfather standing the same way. she looked at the three of them for a while. she said "oh, Theo," and that was all, and she kept her hand on my arm.

    I made okonomiyaki. it held. dad had three. Miso sat on mom the entire evening and mom said "she knows who the mother is."

    saturday was the market and the falls and the walleye with Colleen and Marcel. dad and Colleen argued about what year a dog died. Marcel and I did the dishes at their place after, and he said "your father's been telling people at his work about the book for a month. people he doesn't like."

    today I took them to Pilcrow. Odette had put all fourteen thumbnails up on the wall in order, and she walked my parents through the whole book as if they were buyers. at the spread where the girl is alone in the red jacket with the sleeves rolled up, mom had to go and look out the window. dad read the author's name off the wall and said "she's a teacher? good. teachers get things done." Odette told them I'd never been late. dad said "he was late for everything until he was eighteen." everyone laughed. it's true.

    in the car after, mom said "your grandfather would be," and didn't finish it. dad, from the front, looking straight ahead, finished it for her. "he'd be counting the pages."