A dating app for one city · one of the questions
Who in this city knows your order?
Everyone in the city gets that one, on the same day. Thirty seconds of voice, or 240 characters. Then you read a wall of what people wrote.
No swipe. No like button. No reading of where you are.
Not open yet Nothing to download and no list to join.
The whole product, in four numbers
- 1 question a day
- The same one for everyone in the city.
- 30 seconds of voice
- Or 240 characters, if you would rather type.
- 3 knocks a day
- The same three whether or not you pay. Back at midnight.
- 6 seats at a table
- What a conversation turns into, if it turns into anything.
Not in it
Absences are checkable from outside.
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A swipe
The gesture is not in the app. Reading is scrolling, and an answer you have nothing to say to just goes past.
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A like button
Nothing registers approval of a person. A reader's opinion never becomes a number stuck to a writer.
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Blurred messages
A Knock arrives whole, in the sender's own words and voice. The design system has no blur primitive.
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Timers
Nothing expires. A conversation does not die while you are at work, and no seat is released by a clock.
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A paid position in anyone's wall
The ranking engine is never handed the list of who pays. A test ranks one city twice, everybody marked a supporter and then nobody, and demands identical output down to the reasons.
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Any reading of where you are
The app imports no location framework and asks for no location permission. The Info.plist carries no usage string, because there is no call to describe.
Both answers, or neither
Any pair gets two numbers. How likely you are to reply to them. Then, with the roles swapped through the same code, how likely they are to open the door.
The two are combined with a harmonic mean, which is harsh on lopsided pairs on purpose. A small number has a large reciprocal, so the weaker of the two directions sets the result.
Nine-in-ten one way and one-in-ten the other averages to five-in-ten. Combined this way the same pair lands at one-point-eight in ten, next to the smaller of the two numbers rather than between them. A one-sided crush does not survive it.
A knock, then maybe a table
The only thing you can send is a Knock. A reply pinned to one specific answer, in your words or your voice, and it arrives whole. Three a day, back at local midnight, the same three whether or not you pay.
Whoever you knocked on decides whether the door opens. Nobody else does.
What a conversation can turn into is a Table. Six seats. A place and a time.
Where this stands
Porchkeep has not opened. No account exists yet, and this site does not describe a service that is running today.
Three pages here have to be public before anything opens, and each one is reachable without an account from the bottom of every page.
Everything else the product will and will not do with what you write is set out in one place.