Arthur didn’t need five hundred. He barely needed one. But the liquidation site had listed the lot for twenty dollars, and Arthur was a man who couldn't resist a lopsided margin.

Soon, it became an obsession. He began categorizing his entire life into 4GB increments. One stick held nothing but photos of clouds he’d taken from his porch. Another held a curated list of every book he’d ever read, along with his handwritten notes.

When the last stick was finally gone, Arthur felt a strange lightness. He had outsourced his memory to five hundred silver slivers, scattered across the county in pockets, drawers, and library shelves.

"I'm going to preserve things," Arthur said, though he hadn't thought of it until that moment.