…The Honda behind her spat the lyrics twice; the low-slung bass-line and crisp hi-hat of last year’s nu-Raggamuffin hit rode above the other insults because of a subwoofer from hell.
But ‘gargantuan’ starts with a G. I don’t have any more G’s. Barbara said this as much to herself as anyone else. She did that thing she always did with her share of the yellowing, chipped tiles, moving them around in both hands and letting them make little click-clack sounds.
Their parents are old and frail. Their jobs are varied and demanding. Their collective geo-positions at any given time are a sparse matrix draped over a space the size of the planet. Their ongoing, mutually-exclusive elder-care opt-out game – that’s what I’d call it – has yielded no nash equilibrium
When Melden had been born, they’d gotten the standard media pack from the delivery center. They’d posted pictures immediately on Register and Soshio. Melden’s Soshio was standard fare for a newborn: little clenched fists, tiny foot prints and palm prints, button-nosed innocence swaddled in real knits. The whole thing was
She turned her head in the chill night breeze and her mouth watered: mint. Mint was her good luck charm. Mint had never let her down. One of the guards had wandered over either out of boredom or genuine interest and seen her with her arms outstretched, twirling in the
Noose™, no longer burdened with the rendering callbacks needed further up in the architecture, busies itself with more pressing things: Like insinuating itself into the clusternet, getting right in there with the other operables and pretending to be friends. Pretending to lament the same recent inefficiencies and packet losses. Making
Whenever the doorbell rings, it’s Chrissy who shuffles to the door. She moves through the small apartment, ironing out her green tee with weathered hands, brushing cookie crumbs from there onto her navy blue jog pants. She lifts her palm to the access pad and it lights up. You can
You install a looper from CRAX.inthe.wall that boasts a quad-lane, real-time suggestOR. You run it as soon as it lands. You go in and break out every colour panel you can find. You burn two hours just surfing the features. The dials and panels seem to breed with every blink
The lift makes a clanging sound and halts. After a worrying pause the doors bid farewell to each other noisily and begrudgingly. She looks down, finding that the 17th floor isn’t quite flush with, but gets out anyway. She’s deposited herself into a corridor that tunnels away in both directions. There’s