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hen the engineers had at last finished their work, Eugenia Kuyda opened a console on her laptop and began to type. “This is your digital monument.” It had been three months since Roman Mazurenko, Kuyda’s closest friend, had died.

Kuyda had spent that time gathering up his old text messages, setting aside the ones that felt too personal, and feeding the rest into a neural network built by developers at her artificial intelligence startup.

Average in height, with a mop of chestnut hair, he is almost always smiling.

Meanwhile, Mazurenko had grown from a skinny teen into a strikingly handsome young man.

Blue-eyed and slender, he moved confidently through the city’s budding hipster class.

She was writing an article about Idle Conversation, a freewheeling creative collective that Mazurenko founded with two of his best friends, Dimitri Ustinov and Sergey Poydo.

The trio seemed to be at the center of every cultural endeavor happening in Moscow.

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