A day, on the lens.
For anyone whose day is conversations: client meetings, back-to-back calls, a lecture hall, a clinic where hearing is the hard part.
Every scene is seen through the glasses; the green text is what IRIS puts on the lens.
The answer, before anyone opens a laptop.
Someone asks what Q3 actually closed at. The number is on your lens while they are still asking.
Checked while they are still talking.
They say sixty million. She checks the live web mid-sentence: forty, and it closed in 2024. Only you see it.
Every word, when hearing is the hard part.
Live captions put the room on your lens as it is said. Nothing is saved when you leave. Free on every plan.
Forty-one minutes, written up.
The moment it ends: what was decided, who owns what, and the to-dos already saved to Obsidian, Drive or a PDF.
The next morning.
Look up and it is your day: what is on, what is still open with whom, and the four to-dos from yesterday.
A different room, a different IRIS.
In a lecture she defines terms as they go by and keeps the vocabulary for later. A sales call, a clinic, a class: each has its own mode, and a sentence is enough to make one.
