In the weeks that followed, WeBeWeb grew in the way secret gardens do—by invitation and by happenstance. Margo left small calls hidden in image captions and marginalia; people who had tended to the city came and left offerings. A retired cartographer donated maps with pencil-margin notes: “Here we loved the ice cream man.” A teacher uploaded a class’s collective poem. A cook posted a stewed-pepper recipe that smelled, in Laurie’s imagination, like summer sunsets.
She pushed the door open.
“I left the doorway,” the woman said. “But the city does the rest. I’m Margo.” She extended a hand. Her fingers were stained with ink. webeweb laurie best