A Bright New World 10

He woke up on the lounge chair near his desk.  His mouth was dry and he was still tired.  He had stayed up until at least 2 in the morning to work on the zine.  He stood up, his lower back stiff.  He shuffled over to the kitchen sink and grabbed a mug filling it with tap water and gulping it down.  He filled the mug again and gulped down another dose of water.  He straightened himself and stretched as much as his out of shape body could bear.

He looked back at the desk.  “New Lean Zine Vol. 4” was done.  The question now shifted to, was it any good?  He would take a shower and brush his teeth he should probably shave while he was at it.  Then with the light of a new day at his back.  At his desk he would learn the truth weather he liked it or not.  He knew there was no need for a sense of drama if it was bad he would make it better.  If it was too crude and ugly he could re draw it.  If it was good… well there was no need to jump the gun. 

He set about his tasks with a calm deliberation he rarely had while preforming such medial tasks.  He showered. He stood Infront of the sink and shaved. He bushed then flossed his teeth.  He looked into the mirror.  

He stood there for longer than he should have gazing into his own eyes.  Lost in thoughts of his past.  Times so distant and shaded by fear and nostalgia that the memories barely seemed like his own lived experiences.  He remembered his father, the last time he had seen him in a rush to make a plane.  He couldn’t remember what he said to him, but he wished he could as it was the last time he saw him alive. They talked on the phone and over video conferences dozens of times after that rushed departure but all that seemed false in comparison to a meeting face to face.  Hand in hand.

Even though he was the only person who remembered that last meeting with his father he still regretted his choice to never go back. A long weekend here and there would have cost him several hundred dollars but what was that money in the face of eternity?  All those small choices seemed logical in the moment but now that those moments were long past he was let with doubts and regret.  Why was life this difficult? 

He drifted back into the current moment.  His small apartment seemed drab in comparison to his memories.  He needed something to distract him he flipped on the TV a quick ad played for some kind of insurance followed by a news report.

“A woman in Philadelphia claims she was sexually assaulted by a man disguised as a robot,” read the anchor.  “The victim claims her assailant lured her to a hotel room dressed as a service robot, a mask and suit of armor hiding their true identity.  Now a new twist in this bizarre case has come to light.  A hotel employee claims…”  He turned off the TV.

He looked at the desk once again.  There was no one to tell him to look over his manuscript, there was no one to imagine edits and cram them into the margins with red ink or note tabs.  It was all on him, there was nothing to stop him.  As he looked in the mirror, he had a sense of anger that his whole life no one had truly had his back.  No one he could remember had ever offered him help or even given him advice that wasn’t some self-indulgent brag thinly vailed as mentorship.  He was mad, but he wasn’t sure why.  From where he stood now it didn’t matter. Perhaps that had been a type of freedom he had never appreciated because he could not recognize it.  None of that mattered now it was just another distraction from the work he needed to do.  He dressed and sat at his desk.

He stared at the small crude zine for a full minute before he had the willpower to open it.  He flipped through it quickly looking at his crude drawings.  Then shut it and lay it down again.  No, I have to read it.  I can’t just skim over it.  He thought to himself.  He opened it again and slowly read over the line of text he had printed onto each page.  It was pretty good. Not great, probably not as good as the original but not bad.  He got to the final page. It was blank.  He had no P.O. box to send responses to and he would prefer not to have his address floating around the in the hands of strangers.  He could use an email, not his main email of course.

He had an old account he made over a decade ago to act as a fake work reference.  Arrowphotoawards@gmail.com.  Some nonsense he dreamt up when applying to a job editing content for travel website and magazine.  He had used it a few times before to sign up for sales, knowing it would be bombarded with junk mail and not wanting to add to the deluge his regular account received on a daily basis.  He grabbed his computer and selected the address from a saved list. Thankfully the password had been saved as well. The account was still active.  He spent some time clearing out the 700 junk emails it had collected over the past year.  He looked at the profile information. There was no name and the account was not connected to any of his other accounts.  It was not perfect but it would be pretty safe especially if he only logged on using a VPN.  He wrote the address in the back of the small book. 

That’s one down. He thought he remembered hearing they made about 8 copies of each.  It must have been 8 people.  It wasn’t too big of a challenge, he had the template all he had to do was copy it.  Where would he place them? One in that trinket box at the media store for sure, but were there more of those boxes hidden around the city?  It didn’t matter, he could leave one in the box, leave one in the café and a few others tucked away between boxes on the shelves of stores.  He hurriedly set about crafting 7 more booklets and one by one brought them to life with writing and his crude drawings.  It took until noon to complete them.  His wrist was stiff from all the writing, a feeling he had not had since his school days.  He stacked the 8 tiny books and placed all of them in a small shopping bag.  He was done.  Done with the first step of the process. There was still more work to be done with the distribution of his publication.  Such as where to distribute them. 

He looked at the unassuming shipping bag. No one would give it a second glance.  He could easily carry it with him for the next few days and drop a copy when and where he saw fit. 

He looked out the window the sun was already beginning to set.  He had awoken late after staying up to work on the zine.  The rest of the day had fast slipped away while producing the duplicate copies.  He was hungry having skipped all of the days meals.  It might be nice to get something at a restaurant.  He grabbed his jacket and keys and headed out.  He took the stairs down to street level and started walking towards the main street.  There was a bar that had cheap burgers and fries.  Not the best food by any measure but for $13 dollars a soda included it was a bargain. 

He started walking there, the street was empty, except for one still figure standing in a store loading bay.  As he approached he saw it was not a person but a humanoid robot.  As he passed that news blurb about the robot rapist crept into his mind.  He continued walking past and waited a moment to glance over his shoulder.  The robot had not moved.  What was he worried about a rapist was unlikely to grab a man over 30.  At least he hoped that was the case.

He arrived at the bar the four tables were already taken by a few businessmen and a young couple.  He took a seat at the end of the serving bar.  He flagged down the barkeeper and ordered a burger and a coke.  As soon as it arrived he scarfed down the entire basket of food and slurped down the soda.  He decided to order a beer while he was already at a bar.  He sipped on if for a few minutes while watching a TV. A news report came on, again featuring a suit made to look like a service robot.  It was hard to hear the anchor over the noise of the bar but he suspected this had a lot to do with the reports he had heard about for the last few days.  He couldn’t help but smirk a bit after remembering his frightening encounter on the street. 

After a few more minutes sipping soda and trying to make out the news cast Paul decided it was time to head home.  He paid his tab and started the walk home.  The streets were dark but the evenings were much warmer than they had been over the past week.  As Paul pondered the weather a shadowy figure emerged before him.  Paul halted.  The figure stepped forward, Paul’s heart skipped a beat.  The shadow morphed into a familiar hairless form.  Erik.  The Viking had returned.

A Bright New World 9

The group on the roof top had all been arrested after some sort of online scam or cyber-attack or something along those lines.  The one news report he saw was short and very vague.  It only mentioned several people hiding in a roof top living quarters had been taken into custody for cybercrimes.  It had been three weeks now and no one had contacted him or questioned him.  He had such a short window of contact with them that he doubted anyone outside the room of 8 could identify him and he was confident that none of the 8 would talk. 

He felt safe… but not all the time.  He knew the authorities could track him down if they had an image of him or a fingerprint.  The only thing he had touched was that air fryer, it would be enough to track him down and charge him as a co-conspirator in the scheme.  He had thought ahead.  If he was questioned, he would say he was taking the old unwanted air fryer from work to a charity shop, the one on Washington street, only to find it was closed when he got there.  So naturally he left it in a collection bin in the alley… anyone who wanted could have snagged if that night. It was a good alibi but there would be no video evidence at the store if they bothered to pull the recordings.  At this point even if the authorities came calling the store would have probably cleared the drives with the security videos.  That shop was a small operation so it was unlikely they would have more than a few weeks’ worth of video saved.  He could buy even more time by saying he forgot which store it was or which day it was… It had now been about a month since he dropped off the air fryer. Aat this point surely a fading memory from a walk home and some confusion over a mundane chore was normal.

Then there was the issue of his phone.  That one guy with the shaved head had reformatted it or something the first time he met them.  He had said not to take it back to the store, that if he did there would be questions.  Maybe that could not be linked back to the group, jailbreaking devices was frowned upon and voided the warrantee but it was not illegal.  It probably wasn’t worth worrying about.

But these thoughts just kept haunting him, he had trouble sleeping for the past two weeks.  Despite all his planning and his plausible deniability there were loose ends and a long list of unknowns that lingered uncomfortably.  As much as he had planned and rehearsed his responses, he was still a bit worried.  An unseen security camera on the roof top would be enough to screw him over. 

The more he thought about the incident the more he had regrets.  Not only about the potential for trouble bur even more so he had a creeping sadness.  He was sad that the whole thing had fallen apart before he could make any sense of the group or their peculiar life style.  He kept thinking about that rooftop greenhouse. It was a thing of beauty and the tomato and cilantro on the taco they gave him was some of the best he had ever had.  Picked right before his eyes.  He wished he could go back one more time, he wished he could say goodbye but it was too late now.  It was too late for a lot of things.  Even thought there was not much he could do he still remembered. 

He needed to calm down, the café was just down a side street, now seemed as good a time as any to get a coffee and a snack.  The place wasn’t cheap but it could be his well earned treat for week.  He hadn’t treated himself to any indulgences in weeks, so he was overdue.  He shuffled his way there and took a seat ordering his usual.  The place was busier than usual, not exactly packed but louder than he remembered it being, it occurred to him this was the first time he had stopped by in a month or more.  The last time he sat in the same room he had studied that strange little book.  He searched his jacket pockets to see if he still had it.  He had been so busy that it had not crossed his mind in a while and he feared he may have lost it in the wash.  It was absent from his pockets, he knew he had stashed it somewhere to keep it safe, he just couldn’t remember where.  Maybe it was at home in a desk drawer or a box, maybe it had received the royal treatment for his most treasured trinkets and was in the metal box in the wooden bed tucked under his bed.  He would check when he got home, for now he would enjoy his iced coffee and doughnut. 

After some time snacking and watching snippets of a program on wood working playing on the muted TV screen he decided it was time to go.  He flagged down the waitress to pay his bill and pulled out his wallet.  As he reached in, something caught his eye it was that dammed booklet. His fingers dug around it to grab his card that he hands over the waitress smiling.  He felt a sense of excitement he still had a souvenir from his strange encounter on the roof top.  It was garbage as far as most would be concerned but to him it was almost a certificate of sanity.  My rantings aren’t madness I have a selection of sayings and crude drawings to prove I had a rendezvous with a den of underground criminals!  Yes, that was surely a line he would share with his children someday.

That all seemed nice but he thought what if he had been there when the raid happened? Haunted him, not because he didn’t know what he would have done, he knew he would have run.  What if the authorities had evidence against him and had picked him up the same night of the raid or the day after when most were unaware?  He would not have been prepared and he would have told them whatever they wanted.  He was a hero and a rebel only in hindsight, in the real world, in the breathing heart pounding moment he was a coward.

They were not nice thoughts, they were frightening.  The situation was bad, something he did not want to be embroiled in. That was only on the surface.  His fear went deeper.  What really scared him was his response.  It was his inability to act that was the most frightening thing.  He has slinked away safely but in shame.  And this wasn’t the first time.  The worst part was it wouldn’t be the last time either. 

He thought back to Sandra in the office.  Maybe he should have just told her to fuck off.  Maybe he should have shouted “Go home for a day! How about I go home for a decade! I Quit.” Smashing the computer and tossing the cans of Pryamsn across the office on his way out the door.  That would have shown them all… or was it just running away while making a scene.  No, that’s exactly what is was.

Something needed to change.  Not his job or who he hung out with on the weekends.  It was something in him that needed to change.  Maybe all of him needed to change.  That task was so big it was hard to imagine what to do, where to start and how long it would take.  Was such a change to his being even something he could do? Maybe when he was young but his youth was past and he felt set in his ways as pathetic as they were.

That stupid book came to mind again.  He pulled it from his pocket and looked at it.  He felt disappointed he would never see vol. 1 or 2.  He really knew he was disappointed he would never see the roof top 8 again.  He would never get a chance to stand in the greenhouse.  He would never go on any silly little errands for them again.  Looking at the book, he knew there would never be a vol. 4.  He lifted his head trying not to spin into another existential crisis.  He gazed across his room to his tiny desk with the stack of stolen printer paper and pin still sitting on top, unmoved from when he wrote the letter a month ago.  If they can’t make vol. 4… why don’t I do it in their stead.  I am a professional writer and editor… well in a marketing sense.  They might appreciate the effort, even if it is not completely on target with their agenda.  My art will suck but theirs was nothing to write home about.  Sketching a little mouse or some character with a triangle head was within his limited skill set.

He stopped for a moment.  What exactly was their agenda?  They seemed to have plans and were organized to some extent but that didn’t necessitate an agenda. He had spoken to them for a while on the two days he met them but they never really preached an ideology or pushed an idea.  They weren’t anarchists judging from their level of organization and cooperation.  They couldn’t be luddites since they used computers and air fryers.  Were they just some odd type of counterculture?  They didn’t seem to have a band, but maybe a counterculture could be more than a band and a clothing style.  Their clothes were very out of style, maybe they just didn’t care about anything the world had offered them.  They were definitely making their own way in the world.  Why didn’t he do the same thing, just with his own twist on it?  Not an agenda per say, just a message. He could keep a similar style of drawing and writing.  He could easily mimic the simple production method of several small pieces of white paper stappled together. 

Yes, just start writing what he knew, take on an anti-advertising message.  No one liked ads anyways so no need to worry about offending anyone.  He could expose some of the tricks marketing teams use to take advantage of people.  That would piss off some people.  The kind of people who needed to be pissed off and knocked down a peg or two.  He grinned to himself twirling the pen in his fingers.  He was excited, he felt he had some power, it was the first time in a while he had felt this way.

Dictating your own rules, someone had said that at the lunch he had in the roof top greenhouse with the 8.  That sounded nice.  For now, it was all he had to work with, so he would have to lean hard into writing the rules for himself.  Not just a couple of rules but the whole rule book.  The more he thought about it the more the task seemed daunting, even overwhelming.  He paused and took a deep breath.  No there was no reason to get flustered, this was all on him, he was in control.  He would set the schedule, dictate the work, write what he saw fit and edit it for accuracy and clarity.

He set pen to paper and began to write.  He kept writing well into the night.

A Bright New World 8

He returned to the brick building with the air fryer he had snagged from work and stashed in his apartment.  Having the thing sit on the counter of his kitchenette made him realize how little space he had. He was glad to get rid of it and pass it on to people who would use it.  It was an appropriate thank you for the reformatting his phone.

The elevator door opened and he was whipped up to the top level.  He stepped out and made his way up the maintenance staircase to the roof top.

The man from before, Will if he recalled correctly, met him with a smile and a “welcome back” 

“Thank you… Oh I…” he stammered glancing down at the air fryer then back at Will.

“Come on in. Please Come in!” he opened the glass door to the greenhouse and waved him in. “set the fryer on that table. Join us for lunch.”

The short man with the shaved head who had reprogramed he phone yesterday walked up and handed him a plate with a rather large taco on top.  Some chopped seasoned meat with rice.  The man turned around and snipped some cilantro from a plant and dropped it on the taco.  He then plucked a tomato from a vine and chipped it on a cutting board placing a few slices on top of the taco.  “We have a hot sauce we made if you appreciate spice.”

“Yes, please.  I never caught you name last time I was here.”

The man smiled, a staring coy sort of smile as if he was tickled anyone would ask. “Erik, like the viking.”

“The viking?”

“Erik the Red, he was a 10^th century viking explorer.  I am not quite so bold or exciting but I like to think if I were born 1000 years earlier, I might have had an adventure or two worth writing an epic about.”

Erik grabbed a bowl and spooned some sauce on to the taco.  It looked very good.  He stood around a table where a few of the roof top inhabitants had gathered some were in the process of eating, one was reading a book, another just standing chatting to a friend I the middle of eating a taco.

He picked up the taco and took a bite.  It was delicious.  It was so flavorful it seemed unreal.

“This is amazing,” he stammered through his full mouth.

“Cilantro is best when fresh” said Will reappearing by his side. “That air fryer look new you sure you want to give it up?”

“I stole if from work and I have no room for it in my apartment. Think of it as a thank you for reformatting my phone.”

“Stole it from work?” Will chuckled out loud “That’s the way to do it! Take their money and their shit before the they can toss you on the chopping block.”

“We mainly take care of ourselves and each other.  We offer support to like-minded people in our broader circle and in some other communes scattered around the area.” Will said with a smile.  “On the side we run a small operation to leak corporate secrets and foil ad campaigns and undermine government and corporate propaganda.”

“How do you do that?”

Will leaned on the table. “Insider information from dissidents who want to settle scores, running bot farms to ratio misinformation and crash out ad campaigns, looping AI agents in logic traps, things like that.”

“The internet was perfect when it was a getaway from the real world. It was ruined the moment it became the whole world,” Interjected Will.

They were definitely not luddites with hobbies like that.

“Funny you say that I work for a marketing firm and we generally see poor returns on most of out campaigns… but that never seems to stop the corpos from dumping money into more far-fetched schemes.”

They all laughed. “I never would have guessed.” Said Will, “you don’t seem the type.”

“I am not the type, I just got the job since I was a decent writer. While we are delving into back stories what exactly are you guys?”

They all looked at him. There was an uncomfortable silence but no one looked mad or even offended. It was more like they were surprised he asked, or didn’t even understand the question.

He stuffed the remaining taco into his mouth as he scanned the small group of people before him. “Sorry I asked.” He said raising a hand to cover his full mouth.

“Don’t apologize” interjected Erik. There is no need for that, we are just a…”

“Well you see, it’s not an easy question to answer.” Said Will, not cutting Erik off but more filling in his silence. “We live here and we do what we see fit. We are a commune by definition but we are so much more.”

“A commune, Like the Soviets back in the old days?”

“No not like communists.” Will said firmly.  “We are more like the Hippy movement of the 1960’s.  A counterculture you might call us.  We dictate the rules of our society instead of society dictating rules to us.”

Everyone was silent but some were shaking their heads along with Will’s answer.

“Yes, I think that describes us very accurately.” Said a young woman with short dark hair.  The others all agreed shaking their heads, the heard the words “hippies,” “Commune” and “counterculture” repeated a few times.  Just like that they all returned to their previous activities as if nothing had happened.

He didn’t really know what to say now, but he got a feeling this bunch was not the type to engage in small talk.  He still felt out of place and somewhat suspicious of their intention for him. “well if you ever want to crash a Pryamsn energy drink campaign let me know I’d love to give you an hand in that endeavor.”  Only Erik and the girl with short hair were within earshot, both smiled.  “We are planning something with them,” said the girl. 

He laughed no sure how to respond.  He had not expected a serious response more of a chuckle or ‘stay away from them, they give you kidney stones’ kind remark.

Paul spent the day with the group they showed him some videos they had shot and edited and distributed through social media channels.  The took him through the greenhouse and told him about every plant they had growing.  Some of the members of the group compiled a wish list of more items for Paul to pick up on his daily strolls. Lamps, old computers, shirts, flip-flops and several other items, most of which could be snagged from any dumpster if one was keen-eyed.  Afterwords they had a discussion on classic literature and debated why literary standards seem to have declined over the decades.  They shared a cobb salad and watched the sun set from the roof top. 

Once again Paul excused himself shortly after sunset to catch the last bus.  He was sad to leave. He did take solace when all 8 members of the roof top commune gathered around and bid him fair well and said they would await his return.  Again, he dashed off down the dark street.  This time it didn’t feel like he was going home, but more like he was going off on a journey.  A journey that would be long and dark and lonely. A journey that would in time lead him back home.

A Bright New World 7

Paul finished the tea in about 10 minutes.  The tea, or possibly the waiting in silence, had taken some of the edge off.  He was lucky as in his calm state he saw man ambling down the street carrying some overstuffed bags.  He dipped into the threshold of the abandoned building he was loitering about.  Not truly hiding but making himself less visible.  The man was moving slow and from a distance looked distracted.  He was of very average height and build and was wearing a drab green jacket. His head was capped in distinct upturned blonde hair, the only feature he could make out from a distance.  He didn’t look homeless but he did have a distinct low budget appearance of unemployment.  He looked down frequently and checked the bags a few times almost as if he feared he had forgotten something. 

Paul felt this man was no threat and was unlikely to even see him.  Feeling safe he stepped forward just a few inches and continued to watch the man.  Only seconds passed before the man spotted him.  The man made it very obvious as he looked straight at him for a few seconds before he tried to raise as hand to wave.  The bags got I the way so he nodded his head and said something Paul couldn’t make out.  He kept waking then stopped in front of the old brick building.  He looked at the building, then he looked back at Paul.  He gestured to the building.  Paul stood there in confusion.  The man gestured again moving his hand toward the building and then he seemed to point at Paul.  Paul looked around as if expecting to see some stranger standing next to him who the man was gesturing to.  There was no one on that side of the street but him.  The man began to shuffle across the street.  As he drew near Paul saw that he was younger than his slow lumbering appearance had suggested from a distance.

“Are you waiting for someone?” the man asked.

Paul was caught off guard and struggled to find an answer.  The man waited staring straight at Paul. 

“Well I was looking for some… thing.”

The man’s expression changed “Well there is not much around here.  What kind of thing are you looking for?”

Paul didn’t know how to answer.  Was he supposed to say? ‘I am following up on an anonymous letter I received from a total stranger.’ No, he would sound like a lunatic. 

With a voice chocked by surprise he responded, “I’m meeting someone.”

The man contemplated this for a few seconds. “Are you by some chance answering a calling?”

Paul was beginning to grow suspicious of the mans interest in him, “I guess you could say that.”

“Are you the one who sent the letter by chance?”

Paul could see he was in the right place.  Despite this he had more apprehension than ever.  “Yes, are you the one who invited me here?”

The man smiled. “Not me but one of my friends. My name is Will. You came all the way to see us so don’t just stand around come in and I can show you around.”

Will shuffled across the street and into the front door of the old brick building. Paul followed.  The two got on an elevator and rode it to the top.  The doors opened with a chime and Will lead Paul on to the open roof top across the tar covered roof to a forgotten roof top structure.  A greenhouse decades old but still in use.  Will opened the glass door and slipped through, Paul followed.  There were plants hanging from baskets and along the outer walls some bearing berries and a pair of small fruit trees. As well as a few rows of plants that seemed to be various forms of lettuce and herbs.  The back of the greenhouse hosted a small door one had to crouch down to enter.  Within was another room, darker but with a higher ceiling.  As he scanned the room he was overwhelmed by the large number of computers and machinery lining the back wall and piled into metal cabinets.  In the center of it all was a round table lined by a random assortment of chairs. 8 of them but no two looked the same in the dim light. On the table were several books and a small tray that looked to be filled with dice. 

The group was a collection of 8 people who according to a brief explanation by one worked in concert to avoid AI devices and online presence.  They had no leader all had some say in what they do and how they operate with the expert of the topic at hand taking a lead on the current issue. They were very guarded against outside infiltrates so most never speak to him and he only caught a few who will make eye contact with him. 

To Paul’s eyes they seem to be luddites at first glance.  Despite this he learned some were very technically skilled individuals, at least one was very well connected to the tech industry.  She had contacts at two major companies that frequently leaked detailed information on campaigns and sales stats.

According to Will, who kept spewing names and factoids, there was not much that surprises any of them.  And they had plans, big plans he quickly gathered from the chatter and constant work they are doing.  Their language was very vague and filled with in-group references.  He couldn’t really follow what they are saying and it was clear they wanted it that way.  They had something close to a code that all 8 understand but an interloper would hear as a lunatics babel.

While he did not fully understand the group or their plans, he did like some of the things they talk about.  Freedom from the drudgery of daily life.  No one to give orders.  Even their apparent money free lifestyle.  They reveal that the group they associate with is much larger than the 8 in the room.  They don’t offer many details but they do speak of shipping out and receiving trade packages.  Did that mean there were other communities like this in every city? 

 Seven of the people among the eight had made a vow to not leave the roof (they did not clarify on how long ago the made this vow how long it lasts for or who the vow was made to but given their close knit nature he suspects it was made more to each other in dedication to their cause than to a god or ancestor spirit)  They ask if he will become one of their agents and bring them things they need.  ‘Agent’ he ponders the word, thinking of the AI agents he was always pushed to use at work… the programs that never quite did what he ask of them.  Only to be lectured on how the agent worked just fine he wasn’t setting the correct parameter for it to operate under. 

The man smiled and looked at him with bright eyes “What do you think of our humble home?”

“It’s unique, what my dad would have called cool.”

The man smirked “Nothing is cool anymore.  It’s just weird enough no one has tried it yet.  Which makes it novel and some people like novelty.  The rest is slop for the piggies.  And the piggies will always eat what’s lying in front of them.  You could say that is why we are all here. To get above it all, literally and figuratively.”

“I don’t think I am an agent… or would ever want to be for that matter.” Fearing they are trying to use him as a drug mule or as an errand boy to buy them food and do God knows what else he is suspicious and quickly responds he will not spend his own money on them.  One of them laughs, they are slow to respond but one says “We don’t really use money, we prefer not to buy things but to use what others have cast aside or to trade our unneeded goods or service for goods we need. From computers to appliances to food.” 

“Then how do you get what you need to live?  Like Food Water and utilities?  What do you do for entertainment? It must get boring up here.”

“We have solar panels for power we can grow a portion of our own food in the greenhouse you saw.  As for the rest… That’s the thing we don’t need much more.  If we need entertainment, we can entertain each other with talk and games.  We even run a small pirate radio station to share our favorite music and ideas across the city.  A shirt can last us 7 years and we only need a few each, even old ones that have gone out of style can still be worn.  A computer can last us for 10 years a crack on the screen or dead lap top batter doesn’t matter if we don’t carry it with us all day and an appliance like an air fryer can last for us for years and be picked up off the side of the street once the novelty wears off for the first owner.” 

“An air fryer?” he mused.

“Yes, do you know of any? If you could get one or two, we could make it worth your time.” 

His phone started chirping his AI assistant was warning him that his internet bill was nearing its due date and was unpaid. He had opted to pay all his bills manually and not sign up for the automatic deductions from his account. He liked the small sense of control that it granted him.

One of the 8, a short man with very short hair stepped forward.  “I see you have one of the new X560 phones with the always on AI assistant.”

“Ahh, yeah.  Honestly I hate the AI its useless in daily life but always to interrupt me.”

“I may be able to remedy that.” He reached his hand out “May I?”

He handed over his phone. The man gently took it and silently walked away to one of the computers lining the back wall of the room.  Paul noticed the man wore no shoes or socks, perhaps that was how he moved in such silence.  The bare foot man sat at a computer and plugged the phone into what looked like a charging cable.  A window popped up and he began typing then clicked away a few boxes.  He scrolled for a moment and opened a new window taking a few more actions that were hard to decipher. Then he unplugged the phone, stood and silently walked back to Paul.

“I deleted the AI and de activated some tracking and monitoring back doors.  That phone will cause you no problems and you have about 28 GB of additional storage.  He started to move away then paused. “Just to be safe don’t take it back to the store or send it the manufacturer, they will have questions.”

“What if I have problems like a bad battery how do I fix it?”

“Just bring it back here any of us can replace a battery.” The man gave a sort of half smile, knotted his head and stepped away.

“Thanks…”

Paul was somewhat afraid he had stumbled into a colony of criminals.  He looked around. No they were organized, but not like a gang would be.  Surely a gang would have a distinct leader and such a group would have searched his person or questioned him thoroughly before allowing him into their secret base.  He was impressed by their living standards.  He was in no rush to move in with them but he was already beginning to take mental notes and already considering how he could adapt some of their actions and ideas into his own life.  As Paul examined his phone the hour caught his eye.  Time had flown by so fast three hours had elapsed in one.  The sun had set and Paul remembered the bus schedule he proclaimed he needed to catch a bus home before it got too late. He walked around shaking hands and promised to meet again.  He then dashed off down the street into the night.

A Bright New World 6

Work was done for the day.  He grabbed his few items scattered around his cubicle and headed home.  As he walked down the street he tried to ignore the large screens playing ads for various services.  The screen hung low on the corner a block away from his apartment complex, the ad was so odd it almost seemed like a joke.  The service was for a company called Pet Pals, as service for as far as he could tell renting a pet for an afternoon or a weekend.  How this service would be of any use to a person was beyond him.  Maybe men would rent a small dog for a weekend and hang around pet parks trying to pick up women with the dog as a front. It was clever… until it wasn’t any more.  How much would one pay for a day with a dog?  Did the dog come with some sort of accessory kit with a leash, treats and poop bags?  One would hope so.

He walked up to the apartment and pushed the elevator button.  It was slow to arrive as always so he checked the mailbox.  There was one letter he grabbed it and stepped into the elevator as soon as it arrived punching in his floor code.  He looked at the letter. His address was handwritten with no return address.  He looked at it with suspicion, ripping the end of the envelope open.  I grabbed the paper with in.  The elevator chimed and he stepped out onto his floor. He pulled out the paper within the envelope and unfolded it. It was a handwritten letter. He stared for a moment wondering who had sent such a thing, a message from beyond the grave? 

He unlocked his door and stepped inside hanging up his jacket and bag.  He read the letter.

Hello,

It is good to hear from someone new.  Not many take the time to write a real letter anymore.  Though it is slow and incontinent we consider it a welcome treat.  Kelley was glad you liked her zine.  We would wish to give you Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 but each copy is hand drawn and made only in very limited quantities, about 8 if memory serves. Sadly the meager supply of Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 were dispersed out into the world some time ago.  We would love to know where you found your copy of Vol.3 those small details often escape memories of the corridors we hand them of to.  Perhaps you can visit us if you have time?  We live in the remains of an old brick construction mid-century apartment block just North of Chambers St.  We would be happy to host you if you have the patience to deal with us and out eccentric ways.

Your friends on the roof

Apparently that letter he sent off to a mysterious P.O. box has reached its intended recipient.  While the offer was intriguing he knew it wasn’t very wise to wonder around a rundown part of town hoping to find an artists loft on a roof, as whimsical as that sounded.

He set the letter down on the kitchenette counter and went about some of this other tasks, hanging his jacket and looking at some bills then paying said bills over the corresponding phone app.  Which quickly slipped into scrolling a couple of social media feeds.  He quickly stopped and grabbed the letter off the counter and read it again. 

How could he not go?  He had been handed an invitation to a secret society of some sort this is what people dream of.  This could be a ploy to rob and murder him, it could also be some sort of long game scam.  It didn’t matter he wanted to find out.

Paul thought to himself for a few silent moments.  It was Friday tonight and tomorrow he was free. He could go tonight no one would miss him.  If anything happened no one would miss him.  It was a case of dammed if you do dammed if you don’t.  There was no simple or safe answer.  He could stay home safe and miss out on this strange adventure, or he could go and risk his life for a shot in the dark at an adventure.  Both seemed foolish to him.  If you are going to live foolishly you might as well go out in a blaze of glory. 

He grabbed his phone and looked up the exact address.  The area was several miles away on the outskirts of an area that was being modernized… gentrified as some would call it.  A transit stop was only a few hundred feet from the exact location.  From his generals commanding top-down view the area didn’t seem to dangerous.   He could take a bus there in 30 minutes or less.  He had just over 3 hours of daylight left.  He pondered for a moment then grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

For the entirety of the 20 min bus ride he flipped back and forth from a sense of being a bold adventurer to ringing his hands to the point of pain over whelmed by a sense of terror.  The bus stopped “9^th street and South West park” called out the automated voice.  He grabbed his phone and checked the bus rout map. He was one stop from his destination.  He could get off now and turn around.  Go home with nothing lost but an hour of his life and a modest bus fare.  The door clacked shut and the bus lurched forward.  It had been decided for him.

He sat on the bus looking at the few other passengers and older woman and her even older husband near the front and a teenager staring at his phone two rows ahead of him.  The only sound that filled the late afternoon bus was the grind of the engine.  The next few minutes passed either very slowly or very quickly, It was hard to tell.  The buss came to a particularly rough and sudden stop “Chambers St.” chimed the automated voice.  He stood looked at the other passengers, none of whom acknowledged him and stepped off onto a side walk greeted by a cool after noon breeze.

He walked the 500 hundred feet past a trendy set of apartments, a few small shops, a construction site, an empty lot and finally stopped across the street from a 5-story brick building.  It looked rough clearly abandoned.  Maybe he was the victim of a prank.  Maybe this was the home of some drug dealer.  He decided to wait and watch.  The roads were clear so he could leave in multiple directions any time he wanted.  He walked around the next corner and around the side of the building.  The back of the old building was blocked off by a high brick wall and a door that was clearly locked and had been for a long time.  He took the long route back down towards the bus stop and back to the front of the building.  He stopped and waited.

A Bright New World 5

He woke up late.  Not late compared to a workday but late even for his regular weekend sleep in.  It was 10:42.  At last he was free from work for three days.  He lay in bed the morning light casting a ray across his bed.  The bustle of traffic and pedestrian chatter from the street outside seeped in even through the closed window.  There were things that needed to be don’t laundry, groceries, paying the internet bill.  But all seemed too tedious to rouse him from this spot where he was comfortable.  Her closed his eyes again the honking of a truck followed by someone shouting something inaudible but most certainly rude prevented him from relaxing.

The outburst from work kept clawing it’s way into his mind.  He relived the moment wishing he could have just stayed quiet.  Second guessing himself for grabbing one of those gross energy drinks.  He wished he just hadn’t gone to work that day, or come in late with some excuse.  A system outage at his apartment that locked him in the elevator to his apartment complexes secure courtyard for an hour or two.  It had happened to him before, one more time would have been believable.  He knew he should be grateful to have a job, even if it was boring, even if the pay wasn’t great, he was lucky to have a job with some stability since AI had taken so many office jobs.  He had been told this hundreds of times before, but it didn’t really make him feel that much better. 

It didn’t matter, it was best to clear his mind and worry about all that latter.  With the whole day off and no serious commitments it was time to investigate that P.O. box.  There was laundry to be done and some shopping before dinner but there should be time for all three.  He pulled out some sheets of blank printer paper and a few envelopes he had snagged from work a while back knowing a need would arise at some point.  It had taken a lot longer than expected to put his loot to use but at least he had planned ahead. He stared at the paper for a moment and twirled the pen around.  He had no idea what to say.  He sat for a few minutes, which felt like an hour and decided he needed to address his chores before he list him self in this task.

He threw his dirty clothes from the week into a bag and ran down the  laundry room on the first floor.  He tossed the load in the washer and headed back to write a letter.  He addressed the envelope first, assuming the local zip code was accurate. He decided it was best to not put his return address or his real name, just a generic name and a scribble of East 3^rd ave and some numbers to pass inspection at a glance.

He didn’t know what to write, ore even who he was writing to.  The whole thing could have been some sort of drawn out joke.  If that was the case it didn’t really matter what he wrote so he set pen to paper and let his hand move and his mind flow. “I’m not sure what to write or who I am writing to, so it’s hard to know what to write.  I know there is a chance no one will ever read this which makes it a little easier since there is no final grade and no judgement.  To be honest I am bored and writing this seemed like as good a use of my time as any other pursuit. I found your New Lean Zine Vol. 3 out in town and I liked it.  It was weird but I now that I have read it I want to see the first two volumes.”

He read it over. It was nothing special but it would work. He didn’t even know if the intended recipient would ever receive the letter let alone read it.  Just to be safe he write his return address with “feel free to write back if you want an old fashion pen pal.”

It was a shot in the dark.  He folded the paper and placed it in the envelop.  He stripped the plastic off of the adhesive seal and pressed it shut.

He was ready to mail it off but he needed stamps and he still needed to do his grocery shopping.

A Bright New World 4

The live stream wasn’t live at all it had been prerecorded about 8 hours prior in GMT.  He had already heard chatter about the winner of the spicy eating competition, it didn’t really matter every episode was more or less the same.  They chatted and introduced the two influencers who would be facing off introduced the sponsor of the stream, they would eat, stop to build tension and eat more.  The loser would have a dramatic cap out moment, preferably with a sob story or a visible show of tears.  The host would speak to winner and loser separately making sure the more popular of the two got about 30% more time to speak whether they won or lost. 

He had dealt with this exact situation before on the marketing end.  They had to make this change because the more popular one always seemed to lose.  They also made sure the loser always had the second interview, to maximize viewer retention.  It was important to appeal to the bigger audience weather in glorious victory on in a humbling defeat.   It really didn’t matter, nor did he car about either of the influences he just wanted something to hold his attention while he ate his own very un-spicy chicken.  

He reached into his pocket to grab a napkin he had taken from the café earlier that day and pulled out a few folded paper napkins, only for something to plop out on the table.  Whatever it was he was glad it had narrowly missing falling on top of his chicken.  He wiped some grease from his lip and glanced at the object hoping it was a long forgotten $20 bill.  Alas, it was the tiny book from the media shop. 

He wiped his fingers clean and picked up the little thing.  He was disappointed it wasn’t money, that would have been a bit more useful but this little book was such a curiosity he couldn’t bear to throw it away.  He wanted to know who made this strange little thing.  Where were vol. 1 & 2? Was it really all written and drawn by hand or printed in such a manner it just looked handmade?  There was no name to be seen and no email address or QR code to scan on the back. He opened the book to the last page. All he was given was a hint: “mail us your ideas” with a partial address “P.O. box 881.” Who the hell included an address so shortened?  What was the city state and zip code?  Must have been some kids who never sent one letter in their lives.  He tried to remember the last time he had sent a letter to someone other than returning a from to a bank or the government and nothing came to mind.  He had sent post cards home, years ago.

It wasn’t worth worrying about tonight, he tucked the booklet into his wallet to keep it safe and hidden.  Mailing a few postcards to variations of that address could be a fun little distraction over the weekend.  He had nothing better to do.  With that realization he cleaned up the table and kitchenette and went to bed.

A Bright New World 3

Paul lugs the air fryer to his apartment.  While there he whips together and eats a simple sandwich for lunch chasing it down with a beer.  Why not? He thought to himself, he didn’t have to be back at work.  After half an hour standing in his apartment trying to skip the stream of ads his TV was feeding him, he grabs his jacket and wonders onto the streets. 

He walks up one street and down another with no destination in mind. He continues aimlessly for another half an hour making his way to a hilltop park.  He sees a commotion as he gets closer several cars and people and yellow tape spanning the gap between two trees.  He sees many of the people hanging around this crime scene are police. 

“Get off the sidewalk. Everybody GET BACK!” shouts one of the cops waving a hand in the air.  “Everybody get out of the park! Get off the grass get off the sidewalk or your all going to get arrested.”

He was still well away from the scene and the other onlookers so he paused and watched for a moment. The police bushed back a few bystanders with a few quickly scampering off.  The police pushed the remaining few onlooker back across the street and continued to yell and wave their hands about.  He decided this was not the place to be and headed down the street back towards the center of the city and its shopping streets.

He didn’t walk for long before a shabby looking store front caught his eye.  The sun bleached sigh read ‘Bragin Media’  There were signs hung in the window advertising ‘buy 3 books get the 4^th free’ and ‘15% off all videos Wed.’  It wasn’t too impressive looking of a store but these shops selling old books, records, CDs and DVDs were a true rarity now days. He was especially amused at how antiquated the forms were.  Records… did anyone even own a record player in this day and age?  After standing in the cold a moment he stepped into the store, finding the interior crammed full of shelves and bins.  The owner, an older man quickly smothered a cigarette in an ash tray.

 “We got a sale going on.” 

He paused to listen. The man said nothing. “What sale is that,” he asked?” 

“You wanna buy it, I’ll sell it.”  The old man chuckled. 

“You hear that thing in the news about the rapist in a robot get up?  The world is not the same way it was when I was coming up.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that comment.

“If you like robots, and by Like mean want to shoot’em, you should get a DVD of the Terminator.  We got a couple floating around… somewhere.”

 

He smiled and nodded his head.  He searched the CDs and DVDs to see if he can find something from his childhood. He is amazed that many of the CDs and DVD’s are older than he is and he has heard of few of them.  Somewhat dejected by the fact he cannot find an old movie he remembered watching as a child he wonders into the back of the shop where books dominate the room.  A small box catches his eye labeled “trade a trinket.” He remembers the tiny plastic duck from this morning and plucks it from his pocket and drips it into the box.  His curiosity gets the better of him and he peeks inside only to see the duck, a dragon sticker and a small packet of paper.  He pulls out the paper to discover it is in fact a small stack of papers stapled at the corner like a multi-page brochure, but rather than being filled with ad copy, glossy product photos and a development road map he sees a few drawings and chaotic handwritten text.  Curious he pockets it hoping to study it later.  He leaves the store, deciding to get a caffeine fix at a café he knows nearby.

He entered the café, he had been coming here about 2 or 3 times a month since he discovered it about 5 years ago.  The place was pretty average as far as food and drink went so were the prices.  The atmosphere was what brought him back. The walls were lined with leather couches, the lights were the old-style incandescent bulbs with a warm glow.  The walls were lined with every imaginable kind of decorative flourish, old photos, framed illustrations pulled from the pages of old reference books and a few shadow boxes containing collections of small toys, old writing pens, lose keys, small hand tools and more. 

His Favorite was a small glass fish tank with a single blue fish and a plants roots dipped into the water, several tendrils of vines cascaded onto the counter. He watched the fish slowly swim around the roots as light glistened off the tank.  He leaned back in the chair yes, that little tank was definitely his favorite thing in the whole place.  someday he wanted to have a plant tank like that in his apartment.  They never played music here and there was only one TV screen in the back that was generally muted.  He liked to sit and look around, his eyes often wondered the store from fixture to picture frame to a customer sitting across the room.

It was always intruding to see a stranger sitting across the room sipping on a latte.  He always knew they had a few things in common, coffee for one, a love for the novel for a second.  Even if he didn’t know their names and never saw them again, he suspected they would have had a few things to talk about.  Yet conversations rarely arose naturally.

As he sat at the table waiting for his drink he started to reflexively reach for his phone to check for a message or look at the price of the mini urban fishing set he had been eyeing for a few weeks now.  As he reached into his pocket his finger brushed against some feathery item.  He pulled it out and looked face to face with a mouse.  It was the small booklet he had taken from the media store earlier. He stared back at the image of a mouse that seemed to be hand drawn on to the cover along with the words “New Lean Zine Vol. 3.” He opened it to the first page. “There is no more flight we need to stand and fight.” Along side another drawing of the mouse standing on two legs looking up at an airplane. He flipped to the second page read “Convert consumers to citizens, let them know they have rights.”  Next to another drawing of the mouse standing next to a shopping bag.  He looked around the café no one was looking at him or all that close to him.  He felt a bit self-conscious reading this strange thing.  “Sleep all day but stay awake at nights” The waitress came and he stuffed the booklet into his pocket somewhat embarrassed to be reading a thing that was most likely made by some high school kid who thought is was some edgy piece of art.  He slipped it into a pocket and headed home.

A Bright New World 2

He sipped on the oversized Pryamsn energy drink as he looked over the latest revised copy of an ad read for a V-tuber marketing campaign.  Even before reading it he had known the process of reviewing and editing was futile.  His agency had worked with this same heterochronic-anime-cat-girl-ghost on a few previous campaigns.  She always strayed from script and went on some strange diatribe about a trip the grocery store where someone said something that confused her in a marginally comical manor. 

The turnover numbers of this V-tubers views to site visits were low and the number of affiliate based sales were even lower.  This was not uncommon for any online platform.  Despite the facts the client seemed to like working with her.  She had her fans and they seemed dedicated.  His biggest concern had not been the meandering nature of her 4 hour long streams but the fact she said a lot of sexually suggestive things.  In the review footage he had been sent and that was generally a 10-20 min snippet of one 4 hour long stream.  It probably helped with engagement and really won over the male 22-34 audience but it didn’t seem like a great look for potential advertisers.

The more he read over the script and tried to guess what product was being sold, the more sympathy he felt for the girl.  He couldn’t blame this cat girl, for taking a decent check and stumbling through the ad read. The scripts that made final approval and were sent to her were always a last-minute ordeal this one included. And the icing on the cake was they were just plain bad.

You can always tell its AI writing.  The AI loves to restate the same points over and over and it always has a very hollow feeling.  It could point out facts, or in this case touch on all the ‘marketing bibles’ bullet points but it never had the ability to hammer home a point.  That just didn’t work in marketing.  It lacked any real world experience.  It had a complete absence of love or hate.  There just wasn’t anything a consumer could relate to, so they never seemed to grab onto the ads.  It was just words explaining things, like a college kid new to the job… familiar with all the ad copy fed into them and brimming with trending buzz words from the latest East Coast sales and marketing seminar but lacking the down-to-earth knowledge of how the product is used on the front lines.  A salesman may have been the perfect analogy for AI, not just because they were using it as a sales pitch middle-man for the actual sales-girl.  God knows it still wasn’t good enough to actually close a sale to the average human.   Because no matter how you used it, the AI was always suspiciously good at offering solutions that entailed buying a new product or signing up for a new long term subscription service.  Surely that was just a happy coincidence of our consumer society and not a deeper ploy to sell more products to increasingly desperate people short on answers and desperate for a change they couldn’t quite quantify. Words on the tip of their tongues but drowned out by a howling wind that calmed but never subsided. 

Maybe it was easy for him to spot because he had been writing for a while.  Maybe is was easy to spot because he knew the marketing strategies.  Maybe it was easy to spot because he had read a pile of old paperback novels that dated to the days when people actually read.  Maybe it was easy to spot because the people who used AI to write just didn’t care about the quality of what they wrote.   Then again he had read Neuromancer and all the Harry Potter books and didn’t think either were very good. Ursula K. Le Guin, now there was a woman who could write.  Too bad most people were unaware of her works.

He looked back at the dead fish of a script.  [Shipped as swiftly as a schooner sailing the sea.]  Was this some ancient reference the East India Tea Trade in the 1700’s?  He wasn’t sure what the client sold but a sailing ship allegory was not going to work on a bunch of chronically online men in the 22-34-year-old age range.  He deleted that line and started to type “Shipped to your door, swift and silent.” It was a lame line but ninjas were big again because of that movie based on an old video game.  One of the characters said something like that in the trailer that had ben playing everywhere.  The line should resonate a lot more but it wouldn’t age well.  None of these efforts aged well. He stared at the screen that read [Shipped to your door swift, and silent] an Oxford coma.  The AI powered writing assistants loved to… no.  Lived solely for the purpose of inserting the old Oxford coma.  “I’m no 18^th century English boarding schoolboy” he muttered to himself as he tried to delete the redundant coma.  The auto correct flashed as soon as he entered his correction. [Shipped by clipper swiftly in austere silence.]  Damm tea trade.

The AI had problems to say the least. Then it made more problems.  This never seemed to worry the managers and tech guys, on the contrary they loved it.  Problems could be sold off to people who could then attempt to solve them.  Those efforts would be counted as new projects and expansions in leadership roles.  It was potential in its most raw and unrefined form.  More important it was something they could type out in a list and email off to an upper manager and cite as work, without doing any of the actual work. 

This process was as productive as making shoes for a man who had no legs.  No one bothered to mention he had no feet so how were the cobblers to know the man with no legs also lacked feet?  Could he not place the shoes on his hands and use his hands as feet and his arms a legs?  There really was little difference so long as he could move.  Then why would anyone complain that a new pair of shoes had indeed been made and delivered to the foot less man by a delivery man who was himself was in great need of a new pair of shoes.  Too bad for him he was an independent contractor.  Bad for him but good for our bottom line.  That was in essence how these productions played out, creating solutions for problems that did not exist.

His AI assistant blared again, he reached for it to turn off whatever alert it was an fumbled the phone on to the floor.  The thing kept blaring, louder by the second.  He furiously snatched it off the floor.  He slammed his fist on the desk, the energy drink tipped over and spilled onto his desk and notebook “GODDANM PIECE OF SHIT” he proclaimed loudly jumping to his feet.  Quickly he grabbed a nearby napkin and tossed It on the greenish puddle.  It did little good.  The green juice had covered a third of his desk and its sticky sloppiness had surely ruined his notebook.  He tilted the can up right to keep the last ounce from running out just as the puddle overflowed from the edge of his desk and started dripping on to the floor. 

He hears a gasp.  He looked around to find all 12 of his co-workers staring at him in an awkward still silence.  Sandra was looking at him, She wasn’t the boss but was the office manager.  Since Chase was off for the week she took it upon herself the run the place. She shuffled over quickly and silently. “Paul… Can I have a word with you over in the break room?”  she shuffled off even faster than she had approached.

Paul grabbed a hand full of paper napkins and sopped up some of the frink and threw the wad of goopy paper into the trash can. He shuffled to the break room. Sandra was standing there with her arms crossed trying to emit a sense of power and control.  “That outburst was VERY inappropriate AND you disturbed the entire office.”

“Yes your right and I’m sorry.  I just…”  He struggled to think of an excuse and he feared he was not at convincing with his half-assed apology.

Sandra Sighed. “I know whings have been stressful with the high employee turnover and the downsizing last year, but that doesn’t mean we can just go around making a scene over spilt milk.”

He shook his head trying to act apologetic.

“Listen you have a lot of sick leave and haven’t used you vacation days from last year.  Why don’t you take today ana tomorrow off.  Those days will be deducted from you vacation leave but it will expire in a few moths anyway.”

He was somewhat surprised at how generous she was being, with his schedule.  But some time off was probably a good thing for him.  “Yeah, some time off will probably do me some good.”

“Sandra smiled a bit, alright I’ll put in the time off forms and Kenny can cover for you, god knows he needs something to do.”  She stepped out silently still with her arms crossed, which seemed oddly insecure in comparison to her appearance just moments before.  As he sat at the break room table he saw the air fryer hidden by the plastic plant.  That air fryer was worth a few bucks, money he might soon be desperate for that money.  He swiftly grabbed it and slipped out the door.

A Bright New World 1

 Since I could not sell this blog, I thought i might as well post some of my writing. Here is a cyber punk story I have been working on.

Part 1

The alarm blared again, this time the AI assistant had cranked the volume to the highest level the phone could output.  Paul grabbed the phone and fumbled with the alarm slider.  There was no time for food he drank a glass of water and put on his pants and shirt.  It was still cold outside so he grabbed the jacket by the door and his bag full of supplies.  In a rush to get to work on time he checked the mailbox only to find a small plastic duck one of the neighborhood kids hid in his box. He pockets it and runs off before he is late to work. 

He made his way down the now busy street.  Every time he passed an alley with an open kitchen door or turned a corner where a restaurant sat he wished he had time for breakfast.  As he neared work he paused at a kiosk selling coffee and bagels.  He looked at the menu, his phone blared again.  The AI assistant was warning him he was almost late for work.  He silenced the phone.  He sighed and shuffled on to work.

Paul arrived at work just in time to not be late but right in the middle of Sandra rummaging through the breakroom complaining about the accumulation of junk and unwanted expired food products. This had become a weekly occurrence but this week she has a new grievance, the air fryer Jackson brought in after Christmas. “Its blocking the cabinet where all the coffee pods are stored.  I can’t believe he we freelance and didn’t bother to clean out his desk or take any of the stuff he brought in.”  She opens the refrigerator door “See! He left a whole case of those Pryamsn energy drinks in there! Took the time to write his name on every side of the cardboard box but wouldn’t carry it home or to his next job.”  She set it in the corner under a plastic plant. “yeah some people…” he replied reflexively, as he looked at the box of energy drinks.  Its triangular logo with angry eyes was very reminiscent of an Egyptian pyramid.  Why would they call the drinks Pryamsn and use a triangle for the logo surely a pyramid or some reference to Egypt or the   pharos or the river Nile would have been easier to pronounce and would have been vastly better marketing based on the identifiable nature of the civilization.  Some middle management know it all probably said “pyra-MID why not just tell them to drink their own piss.  Who is going to pay $6 a can when you are calling it mid on the label!?”  Yeah, that was most likely the answer.

How was it even pounced Pry-am-sn?  That seemed to close to ‘prions’ the thing that caused mad cow disease. Pushing that thought to the back of his head he took note of the air fryer and the box of drinks figuring they each had around $20 of value it would be worth it to try and sell them online.  

Sandra had shifted to complaining about the trash not being taken out.  Even though as office manager that was part of her job.  He reached into the fridge and grabbed one of the energy drinks to give him a boost through the morning. 

He couldn’t help but laugh to himself a bit remembering Jackson with his white pants and his jelled sculpted hair.  Jackson was a dick. He wouldn’t be missed but he couldn’t blame him for leaving for greener pastures.

“Don’t worry I’ll take them to the thrift store after work today that should clear up some space.” 

Sandra paused and looked over at him for the first time during her rant, she gave a muted sigh.  “No, we need to wait until next Monday.  Just in case he comes back for this junk. We have had that issue before.  At least he didn’t steal the chair and power strip at his desk like that one fat guy a couple of years back.”  

He tipped the Pryamsn can to her and took a sip, then moved to exit And seated himself at his desk.