“saying if i was free is like, like – if i had a hammer, for instance: so many things to built, so many people to kill!”
“you’re the one talking nonsense, blog. nobody is free, i know that! i’m just saying..”
“what’s your angle, anyways?”
“don’t interrupt me! i was gonna..”
“because, you know – very much airfat, all this talk.”
“for particle’s sake, man! shut it and listen! the high coun..”
“remember silly? now she’s a breeder, and nothing we can do about it because-we-are-not-free, got?”
i roll my eyes extensively, for more effect, and pause them on blog again. i had met him at the entropy_meet under_within, and we were both sent back to the flamboyant’s promenade: the particle was waiting for us at the entropy, it knew we’d come in at the same moment. after i safely opened my eyes at the promenade, i had to crisscross 2 flesh_flows to get to the meat_meet where blog was waiting for me with his bite_bit.
we are strolling leisurely, along with the third ration_bit crowd, towards the top of the hill, as the sun starts to set. we are following the yellow line and doing our best to avoid eye_contact with peasants and chimps, sharing blog’s lunch: half ba_nano and half breed_bread each, which is not enough for both of us but will have to do. i cannot take my ration out of my pocket, because it’d suck too much attention: abbees are impossible to be found in the city, only the cadre_inc has access to this tiny feed_rich fruit. and the wicked, of course.
“i mean, of course we gotta keep in mind our primary condition..”
i swallow my last ba_nano piece with this word: there’s no way to get a pessimist to understand any possible option out of a situation that nicely feeds his pessimisme. blog is our i_t in the city, but lately there’s been talk among the wicked of his growing detrition, a common malaise for undercover humans in azza. blog stares at the landscape, his sad eyes are now avoiding me: he knows, as much as i do, that his pessimism is corroding the force within, and that he’ll soon be transferred – in fact, he longs for that already.
“hey buddy, it’s almost time.”
we both look at the confound_compound, van zante’s cadre_inc palace. the last sun shoots orange rays onto the compound’s golden roofs, and we look away: the light is just too unbearable. the whole compound is shining like a gigantic toxic flower on top of the hill.
“airfat, golden airfat..”