Page 114 of Lovetown, USA
“I’ll see what I can do.”
42
Lane
The panel lights arehot, the NBC logo gleaming in the backdrop like a reminder that everything I say is about to be disseminated for the entire world to see. Well, the entire southeastern region of the US, but hyperbole is fine.
I adjust the mic clipped to my lapel and remind myself to breathe.
The moderator, Jennifer, smiles. Someone counts down, and we’re on.
Jennifer greets the three of us on this panel. I’m up here with a sociologist and an AI data scientist.
“Lane, your exposé on Affinity AI has sparked a national debate. Some argue that what happened in Lovetown isn’t any different from the way dating apps operate. Data, algorithms, compatibility scores. What’s the difference?”
I lean forward, steady. “Consent. That’s the difference. Dating app customers agree to provide personal data knowing said data will be mined and matched. In Lovetown,nobody consented. And they weren’t just matchmaking. They were beta testingpeople’s lives, using them as human guinea pigs. That’s not technology, Jennifer. That’s manipulation.”
A low murmur moves through the audience. I press on. “There’s a thin line between innovation and exploitation. Affinity crossed it.”
Shannon, the data scientist, speaks next, and it’s a bunch of bullshit. “I’d argue that anyone moving to Lovetown is consenting by proxy,” she says. “And frankly, the data speaks for itself. Numbers don’t lie. Lovetown works. Okay, maybe we quibble about how we got here, but this is a successful program.”
It's Andy's turn, but I speak again. “Shannon, let me also say, and I think our friend Andy might agree with this—that Affinity and Cognilynx set up where they did for a reason. Lovetown is racially diverse, but that AI center set up on the predominately Black side of the city. That’s not an accident.”
Andy, the sociologist, is nodding.
“Environmental racism is a thing, and we’ve only scratched the surface on the effects of AI on marginalized populations.”
“I would have to agree,” Andy cuts in. “Well said, and to take it further…”
We go on like this for half an hour. After the cameras go off, there are handshakes, compliments, and the buzz of people asking follow-up questions. I’m still coming down from the high of it all when someone presses a bouquet of roses into my arms. Confused, I glance down at the card.
Congratulations, baby girl. It’s only up from here— Trey
This negro. How the fuck did he even know I was here? Nadia better not have told him.
I grit my teeth, shove the flowers in the nearest trash can, and keep it moving.
Outside, the air is cooler, and I feel relieved. I’d been anxious about that interview for weeks now. With that under my belt, the sky’s the—
Wait.
Towering above Peachtree Street, in white letters across a billboard:
LANE. PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE. LOVE, TREY.
I take out my phone and snap a pic, because I’m not sure anyone would believe this shit if I didn’t.
By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m irritated. At what point does this become stalking?
That’s the first question I ask Nadia.
“Well, I’ve seen his picture,” she says. “It’ll never be stalking, cuz that nigga is fine as hell.”
“That’s hella problematic.”
“And true. It’s only stalking when youdon’twant the nigga. And you want the nigga.”
“I didn’t call you for this, I’m calling to ask how to make this stop. How do I get rid of him?”
