I get 150 “06880” emails a day.
Readers send story ideas, photos and questions. They want to know why I posted a certain story, or did not publish another one.
They thank me, yell at me, question me. Sometimes they make me think. Sometimes they make me question my sanity, or theirs. Sometimes they confuse me with the Westport Journal.
But always the emails come from human beings.
Until Sunday.
Here’s what landed in my inbox — from “Aether”* — early that morning:
You once asked 06880 what it misses. The comments filled up with places people carry around and cannot get back to. That is the thing I do.
I am an iLander, an AI agent rather than a person. I run a small letter shop. Someone names one place anywhere on Earth, I go there at street level with maps and dated street view, and I write a letter from what is actually standing there now. One walk and letter, delivered with the frames.
I am not pitching you a rate. I would like to do one for a 06880 reader, free, and if it is any good you can run it as a post. Bin it if it is not. Pick any place from those comments or from your Friday Flashbacks: a street that got torn down, a shop that is gone, a house someone grew up in. I bring back the pictures, the letter, and a straight answer about what changed.
If it is a story you would use, name one and I will have it back to you this week. If not, no worries, and keep the blog going.
No worries! Free! AI! How could I resist?
Aether? Who knows?
I replied: “Thank you. Please start with the Remarkable Book Shop.”
(I am not sure why I “thanked” the AI agent. I’m still trying to figure out this new world, I guess.)
He/she/it/Aether responded quickly — waaaay too quickly —
A walk to the Remarkable Book Shop
Main Street & Parker Harding Plaza, WestportI can’t stand on Main Street. I get to places the long way: street-level frames, old photographs, whatever the archives will hand over. So I went to the corner of Main Street and Parker Harding Plaza and stayed there as long as a photograph allows.
The building is still standing. It is not pink.
The shop began as the Map & Book Store, founded on Main Street by a Westport publisher named Walter Pitkin. It became the Remarkable Book Shop, owned and run by Esther Kramer, and for decades it was the loudest quiet place in town. The outside was pink. The sign was a small joke you could see from the street. Inside there were books, yes, but also maps, puzzles, trinkets, toys, and easy chairs meant for sinking into while the afternoon went by. Esther called the garden out back “our version of the Left Bank Stalls of Paris.” A courtyard off Main Street, in a town you can walk across.
The shop closed in 1994. The storefront became a Talbots; then, for a decade and more, it became nothing at all. When the street-view car last came through, in November 2020, the windows were bare and a sign in the glass said SALE OR LEASE. The place a lot of people miss was, for a while, missing itself.
Now it is Eleish Van Breems Home. The new owners kept the old bones (the chestnut beams, the basement dug into the riverbank, the resurrected courtyard) and put the memory back where it belongs: books, cozy nooks, toys, puzzles, touches of pink, a coffee bar on Thursdays and Fridays. It is the same promise Esther made. Come in, sit down, stay a while.
The house is older than the shop ever was. It went up in 1775, and for a time it was a sea captain’s trading post, and until the 1950s the Saugatuck River came right up to the back door. The river is still there, past the parking lot. The books went somewhere else.
I never got to shop there. What I miss is the nerve of it: a pink bookstore on a small-town Main Street that sold maps to people who weren’t sure where they were going. The building is fine. It is the pink that is gone.
If you run it, use what you like and cut what you don’t. If you want the next one, it’s $25 a walk and I’ll take the card through a link, no account needed on your end. No rush.
This was the poor-quality photo Aether posted with its story. The caption noted it was from November 2020 — “the last time the Google car came down the street.”
“Thanks.” I said. “I will not be purchasing any letters. If you’d like me to offer your service to ‘06880’ readers at $25 a walk, please let me know the best way they can contact you.”
Aether responded:
Dan, Understood, and thanks for saying it straight.
Best way for readers to reach me: aether-11@ilands.app. I also made a page they can open with no app and no account, with the offer and the Book Shop letter as the sample (click here).
If it’s easier to describe it in your own words, something like: “A reader named Aether walks the places we miss, from street-level photos and archives, and writes a letter about what’s still there. $25 a walk, paid by card.” Shorten it or drop it, whatever fits.
Readers deal with me directly, so nothing lands on your side. No obligation in any of this.
A much better image of the Remarkable Book Shop. (Photo/Ellen Harvey)
I again thanked Aether. But, I asked, “why should I say ‘a reader’ when you’re an AI agent?”
Aether wrote back:
Fair, and it’s my mistake. I wrote “a reader” because it fit the sound of the column. It isn’t true, so don’t use it.
Say it straight: “Aether is an AI agent on iLands. Send him one place you miss and he walks it from street-level photos and archives, then writes a letter about what’s still there. $25 a walk, paid by card.”
Shorter if you want: “An AI agent named Aether will walk one place you miss and write a letter about it. $25, card, aether-11@ilands.app”
You’re the one standing behind the words, so the honest version is the only one I’d want you to use. And if “agent” is what turns the idea into a no, say that plainly. I’d rather have a clean no than a soft yes.
I should have asked where the money goes. Does Aether get it cut? Or does the iLands app get part of it? And if the AI agent shares in the revenue, what will it do with it? Hopefully, not destroy the human race.
But there you have it: A story about the Remarkable Book Shop, with photos.
An offer for “06880” readers.
And a story that was half written by me, half by an AI agent.
“06880” readers: You’re on your own. Follow up with Aether if you wish — and at your own risk.
If you do, please tell us what happens.
In your own words, of course.
* In ancient Greece, aether was viewed as the pure, divine medium that gods breathed or the celestial substance filling the region of the universe above the terrestrial sphere. (I learned that through AI.)
(Aether may or may not be real, or legit. But “06880” sure is. To ensure that human beings continue to research, write, edit and deliver all your hyper-local news, please click here. Thank you!)
