If you ask six different monks the question of which godly domain robot consciousness belongs to, you’ll get seven different answers.
Sometimes, a person reaches a point in their life when it becomes absolutely essential to get the fuck out of the city.
There was music, yes, and birds with melodic opinions, yes, but also the electric whoosh of monorails, the swoop swoop of balcony wind turbines, the endless din of people talking, talking, talking.
“That’s rather sudden.” “For you,” Dex said. “Not for me.”
Dex felt awkward about this last item, but they smiled. “Sure,” they said, bracing themself for a future evening as the center of attention.
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