I’m sitting listening to Penguin Cafe thinking of memory and trying to remember what memory meant before algorithms drowned us in content. I’m trying to think ahead to what I’ll remember of these days when Marcelo will thread his own recollections into the story of his life. How well will I recall his first attempts at pronouncing grapes (buysh) without an audio recording? I started a single note on my phone the other day that never progressed beyond “I want to remember,” and I do, but my mind stops short there as if the bottom has dropped out.