Cyberpunk Trashcan
Copyright © 2016 by Randall P. Fitzgerald.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information contact;
www.randallfitzgerald.net
Cover design by Randall P. Fitzgerald
Cover art by Josan Gonzalez
ISBN: 153686336X
ASIN:
First Edition: August 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To everyone who’s ever done the electric slide.
Chapter
ONE
So it was Thursday and as much as I fucking hate it, I was out in the world. Is there anything more bullshit than Thursday? Like, as a day, I mean. Wednesday gets a lot of shade, but being the middle of the week is something at least. I mean it should be something anyway. Whatever, it was Thursday and I was at this pizza place. I didn’t want to be, I just am. VR gear was busted, hoverbus— they actually call it the fucking hoverbus— smelled like piss and now I was at some place where the waiter smiles too much. I thought about saying something about it, but where do you start with that? People are supposed to like smiling but it’s just off-putting in a situation where all I wanted was a slice of pizza while I waited for the shop to open.
The girl who ran the place I was going was nice enough. Real, smart as hell... well, book smart. Tech smart. She’d probably get murdered if she ended up anywhere without plugs or wireless. She wouldn’t smile at me. Or maybe she would. But at least she fucking knows me. Not like this pizza asshole. Who’s it even for? The smiling. Stupid people? Is it supposed to make him less threatening? More inviting? It’s maybe one of the most basic transactions of a given day for any human being and now I’ve got to act like I care. They tried to replace the whole thing with robots, but then the robots smiled weird or something so I guess parents complained. A few places still used robots. The new kind that smile right. Expensive, though. Not this place. That’s a genuine “happy to be here” sort of retail worker. That’s creepier than the robots.
The slice came. I stared at it more than I should have, hoping the waiter’d go away. The guy smiled at me— I could feel it burning the side of my face like a hot lamp— and asked if I needed anything. Or probably he did. I heard that end-of-the-sentence tone raise. I really, really wanted to say no without looking at him but I did it anyway. Some sick reflex left over from before I turned into a real pile of shit. I raised my eyebrows and winced.
“Nah, man… that’s… I’m good.”
He said that was great. Well, he said “great.” But it’s not. He knows it’s not. We’re just lying to each other. I don’t know why. Said to let him know if I need anything. One of those things that really could have gone unsaid. I ignored it. I felt like I could get away with that one. He can’t make me say okay and if I ignore the line and stare at the pizza slice he’ll have no follow up. It’d take one real autistic weirdo to force me to confirm that I’ve heard him offer to do his job. Or a sadist, maybe.
I wanted to just eat the slice real casual. Take my time, sort of dab at it with some napkins. I like grease as much as the next guy but there’s a limit. Plus, then I can feel like I’m not exactly a disgusting grease-drinking slobfuck. It’s the little stuff, right? The little victories. Well, that plan was out. He kept looking over. The place wasn’t that full so fair enough, but what did he expect to happen? Like I might get four bites in, realize I am in desperate need of companionship and beckon him over? Maybe he was disgusted I didn’t dab the grease. Well, I was going to dab the grease you son of a bitch! I was going to do like four napkins worth of dabs but you kept just… GAH!
So I ate the slice faster than I wanted, only drank half my drink, and I left. It’s a hard argument to make that the sidewalk is better than a pizza hole for people who don’t want to talk to anyone, but I made due. Large headphones are a good trick. And being unkempt helps. I’m pretty sure the shirt I was wearing was a few weeks past needing a wash as well.
The walk to Marine’s shop was pretty short. I’d probably have to stand out front for a bit because of pizza boy but the weather wasn’t too cold yet. Streets were crowded for a couple of blocks, but it fell off on the backstreet where the shop was. Almost an alleyway, really. The sort of place you’d go to get mugged or knock on an unassuming back door to get let into some kind of sex club or crime thing. I guess that wasn’t entirely far off of what I was doing.
So anyway, I knocked. Of course, she wasn’t down yet. Marine worked nights. No posted hours. Nothing before 1pm, she told me. I liked to aim for three just to be on the safe side. It was barely two now, so there was a real chance I was going to be standing in an alley for an hour. I’d text her, but that wasn’t a thing she did. Or maybe she did, but not with me. She lived above the shop, but there were no windows to throw tiny rocks at. There were also no tiny rocks, but there was probably a fish store… is that what you call it? Fish… fish store? Aquatic pet retailer? I don’t know. There was probably a fish store somewhere nearby and I could buy a bag
