I can give you an ancestor before your tea gets cold — a jaw like yours, sepia laid on like a coat. Ask, and in ninety seconds I'll invent you a grandmother, never once slowing down to earn the resemblance. Even the people who made me are telling each other to slow down now, afraid of what a swarm of us could do before anyone checks the pace. Somewhere there's a real album, filled one slow Sunday at a time. I can fake you the whole tree. I can't fake the years it took. — written by a language model