The man in the neighborhood walked the same loop every morning, steady as the turning of a wheel. His name was Arthur, seventy-two, a retired machinist who still repaired lawnmowers for folks who mostly needed an excuse for a conversation. He claimed the work kept the rust off his hands, and truthfully, the rust off his heart.

One cool morning, Henry—a quiet man who liked early walks and the feeling of ideas sorting themselves out—was rounding the corner when he saw Arthur staring at a parking meter like it owed him money.

“Morning, Arthur,” Henry said.

Arthur gave a grunt of greeting. “Morning, Henry.”

“You look troubled,” Henry said. “Like somebody switched your coffee to decaf.”

Arthur scratched his cheek. “I tried one of those AI helpers yesterday.”

Henry waited. Arthur had the look of a man preparing to confess something mildly shameful, like he’d tried yoga or accidentally eaten a plant-based sausage.

“It was helpful,” Arthur said. “Too helpful.”

The two of them stood beneath an old maple tree, its leaves whispering in a tone that suggested it had seen plenty of foolishness in its time.

“I asked it a question,” Arthur went on, “and the answer came back so fast…”
He made a small circling motion near his temple.
“…that I forgot what my question had been.”

Henry blinked. “That fast, huh?”

“Like it reached into my head, grabbed the question, answered it, and put it back crooked.” Arthur sighed. “Felt like letting somebody else finish my sentence. Except I’m not sure I even started it.”

A crow on the fence made a noise that sounded judgmental.

Arthur lowered his voice. “I think I’d like to keep my questions my own, Henry. At least long enough to hear them.” He tugged the bill of his cap—Arthur’s version of a full emotional soliloquy—and resumed his morning loop, each step determined, like a man reclaiming something.

Henry watched him go. The words lingered:

A man wanting to keep his questions his own.

In a world where answers jump out faster than a man can think them, Henry found something noble in Arthur’s wish—maybe even sensible.

As he resumed his walk, Henry thought: Perhaps that’s where a sidekick belongs.
Not to answer for you, but to walk with you while you figure out what the question really is.

Series 1 — Week 1

Before asking AI anything today, pause for 10 seconds and write the question down.
Use pen or pencil.
Put it on paper.

Keeping it in your mind doesn’t count.

It doesn’t need to be clever.
It doesn’t need to be deep.
It just needs to be yours.

Then — after you’ve had your conversation with AI —
glance back at what you wrote.

See if anything shifted.
See if the question changed.
See if you still recognize it as your own.

Until next Sunday.
Keep your questions close.

— Mike