just riffin'
and then slipped me the key.
It felt solid, had a nice weight, a real object in my hungry palm, flesh trying to savour the feeling. Skin memory.
"Don't worry Mr Leveaux, it's there alright, as per - we haven't let you down yet have we?"
Dark irises. Hard eyes...
"I wouldn't know for sure, would I?"
But I made them blink - that's something. Although why I should feel so aggressive is a good question. The sort I never ask myself.
"But that's not the issue really," I was trying to sound callow now, by way of apology. "How will I -"
"Oh, I see." The voice returning to the same tone as before, matching the sterile stare. "We've tattooed the number on your fore-arm, just in case."
"A number?"
"1978."
"Thanks - then I guess I better get moving before I forget where that actually is."
"You are a valued client Mr Laveaux, please come again."
Most every other time you wouldn't want to lean against a corrugated corner wall and suck in clammy gags of air... but when you've just made it out of Meditek it's instinctual, your body knows things your mind has forgotten. I don’t recall a single swipe session but I remember a lot of corrugated corner walls, I remember a lot of grateful breaths.
This time? No different, can’t stand still too long though, thinking is wasting memory space. Cash calls, and it calls from downtown. It sings a soft and mewling song from inside a locker, clear through the smog and tunnels, across the precincts and zones and into my ears. And there really are people who miss the old ways, card money and all that plastic jazz. They must be crazed.
Then again, shuffling off in a not quite random direction to a well earned and quite possibly imaginary payment for the loan of some brain, I gots to ask the obvious - who aint?
It felt solid, had a nice weight, a real object in my hungry palm, flesh trying to savour the feeling. Skin memory.
"Don't worry Mr Leveaux, it's there alright, as per - we haven't let you down yet have we?"
Dark irises. Hard eyes...
"I wouldn't know for sure, would I?"
But I made them blink - that's something. Although why I should feel so aggressive is a good question. The sort I never ask myself.
"But that's not the issue really," I was trying to sound callow now, by way of apology. "How will I -"
"Oh, I see." The voice returning to the same tone as before, matching the sterile stare. "We've tattooed the number on your fore-arm, just in case."
"A number?"
"1978."
"Thanks - then I guess I better get moving before I forget where that actually is."
"You are a valued client Mr Laveaux, please come again."
Most every other time you wouldn't want to lean against a corrugated corner wall and suck in clammy gags of air... but when you've just made it out of Meditek it's instinctual, your body knows things your mind has forgotten. I don’t recall a single swipe session but I remember a lot of corrugated corner walls, I remember a lot of grateful breaths.
This time? No different, can’t stand still too long though, thinking is wasting memory space. Cash calls, and it calls from downtown. It sings a soft and mewling song from inside a locker, clear through the smog and tunnels, across the precincts and zones and into my ears. And there really are people who miss the old ways, card money and all that plastic jazz. They must be crazed.
Then again, shuffling off in a not quite random direction to a well earned and quite possibly imaginary payment for the loan of some brain, I gots to ask the obvious - who aint?