I hit send on the laptop; the response goes out to my publisher. » Y G H M®: the stories, yo
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I hit send on the laptop; the response goes out to my publisher.

I hit send on the laptop; the response goes out to my publisher.

“That should do it”, I think out-loud in the kitchen.

The dog looks over at me and tilts his head.

“Yeah”, I reply, “I know what you mean.”

I close the lid of the laptop; the machine shuts off.

Done for the day.

“You hungry?”, my wife asks as she takes a step into the kitchen.

“Nah”, I respond, “I´m cool.”

“I´m starved!”, HR says from across the kitchen table as she sets her soda down.

“I could eat the right side of a blue whale”, the guy on the couch says as he sets down the bag of papitas.

I turn my head; right, I forgot that you were still here.

“So”, my wife continues talking, “what are we going to eat?”

“Digitalpizza!”, HR responds as she takes a sip of her soda.

Moments later, there´s a knock on the door; that was quick, I think.

I tip the spacejet driver 15 pesos; he smiles.

“Thank you”, he replies as he turns around and takes a step towards the spacejet.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes; lighting one up, he takes a drag and opens the door of the vehicle.

Last delivery of the night, he thinks.

I hit pause on the digitalprojector; do you know why this is important?, I think to the class.

Mumbles in the crowd.

“There´s really no point”, I tell the class, “it´s just a story.  I´m trying to keep it going; while success is great, there´s also something to be said for continuation–the one-hit wonder that had to get a new job.  If you can figure out how to keep paying your bills, your responsibilites, while maintaining artistic freedom, you have the luxury of being able to create in a way more true to you. It´s great to be able to make what you want to exist in the world–you´re beholden to what pays your bills. It´s called loyalty. Would you risk your mortgage, and your food on the table, to do what you wantfollow your dream, live your bliss, side hustle on your own time. The person who doesn´t pay rent is free to do what he wants. You know? It comes down to what you do when you are out of wage slavery. When you punch your timecard out–do you go to the bar to drink or do you study for the bar to be a lawyer? I don´t think there´s a wrong answer–just personal preference.  You won´t be tested on this material and there´s no quiz.”

“I want to go to the bar”, a student yells out, “right now.”

“I know what you mean”, I reply as I tilt my head and turn to look out the small window.

Dreams are fuel for propeling a person past what one must do.

It´s ok but needs work.

You´re wrong, I think.

I look again at the response on the laptop; I sigh.

Yeah, I agree. I know what you mean.

I start typing:

I agree but let´s go with it. 

The laptop beeps 8.2039 nanoseconds later.  I open the lid and look at the new message:

Ok. You got it!

I close the lid of the laptop in the kitchen; I smile.

Finally, the check has been finished and my first book will be getting published.

It´s done, I think to no one in the kitchen.

I turn my head to look around–hey, where is everyone?

“We´re in here”, my wife yells from the living room.

I get up from the chair in the kitchen table and take a step towards them; as a second thought, I pause and grab a fresh bag of digitalpalomitas.  I set them in the microwave. I hit play. The digitalfabricator starts making them; although, the machine can be made myriad ways, this design seems to make people feel good, and so that is how it is built.  Moments later, my thoughts stop rambling, and I take the bag of palomitas from the microwave. I take a step towards the living room.

Looking back, it was a nice evening.


The alarm clock is going off.

Time to wake up.

I hit snooze.

Fuck it.

Moments later, the alarm goes off again.  I get up.  I take a shower.


I think to myself. I look over at the dresser, like I always do, before leaving my bedroom–the picture is still there.

Where do we go from here?, I think to no one.

“The park at 3”, my wife calls out from the kitchen, “did you forget?”

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