“Look at me, bringing home the bacon for my lady!” Fred hung his jacket in the closet and followed me into what used to be my kitchen. He excitedly inspected the enormous metal box that had replaced our cabinets, refrigerator, oven, toaster, blender, and microwave.
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How are you doing? Warrick’s text appears on the floating screen next to my head.
Dead inside and out. Same as always. Think-to-text is so exhausting.
I’ve been having a hard time, too.
He’s having a hard time? I’m the one whose mind is hanging out in a computer simulation while my body is who-knows-where
I think I would call this pain if I could feel anything at all.
My cousin used to rave about float tanks. He said they were the ultimate form of relaxation, drifting in warm salt water in complete darkness. The experience disconnected your brain from your body, so you became a mind suspended in nothingness.
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