윤

Wife asked me about the bar (which I refuse to take unless I am allowed to in the afterlife) and I told her it was just the right amount of ambition, not too little that I threw my life away or so much that I made many times what her company might have paid, to put me on a career path to her, like the book—or was it an episode of the Twilight Zone—I remember from my youth with pictures of the earth freezing and burning if it were only the slightest bit further from or closer to the sun. Roots of Intelligent Design for some, perhaps. She looked flustered by my response, which I still felt was such a brilliant one that when 남재 woke up in a bed in the room, I had to tell him he missed out on it. He’d be my first choice on LINE when I woke up at 3am.

An obvious by-product of the son’s interest in Scooby Doo and our recent viewings of live-action adaptations, the proprietor had been conducting some ghastly rituals, and once I learned of them, I returned with a sample leech the shape and size of an orange slice under a form-fitting plastic case and explained to her, squeezing it to reveal its jaws, that he was reviving the dead whose souls had been sucked out of them. She turned and quite effortlessly removed a giant specimen hanging on the towel rack like a lei and tossed it aside.

We congregated in the hall where the madness was at work, and saw an animated scene that seemed to depict his machinations, while staying safe in shower-like alcoves. The wooden floors were giving way, I surmised, as a result of the damage being done to reality. My cousin and Rebecca looked on as my indiscernible companion began choking, her mouth ballooned and I desperately tried compressing her chest from behind. Her ribs converged to a single bilateral ridge and her lips pursed as I continued helplessly, regretting my past decisions.

Rebound after the Line of Duty series (6) finale, police drama in the other part of England that give or take an iPhone, looks like it hasn’t changed in 50 years. I couldn’t find but the last episode of the second season—er, series, but it seemed more of the same, protagonist and criminal bumbling along, no grander scheme in mind other than self-preservation. Which I suppose is alike everywhere, even at work, where I was in my dream, fulfilling more of my staple IT duties, stopping with my bundle of paperwork at various stations throughout the office to take short naps, my way of distributing them without overindulging and maintaining the all-important appearance of industriousness. One of the characters jumped to his death at the end of Happy Valley, which carried over to a sad fellow who did the same in my building, except he did so with a bomb strapped to his chest and triggered it just as he passed my window. The explosion sent me flying headfirst in slow motion toward the remaining wall and I hoped it would at least be enough to get me out of the rest of the day.And if I were ever to return to a desk that’s dusted by the cleaning staff at night, I’d like to resume my reputation for techno-macabre with a faux body mod like this attachment, which reminds me of Zaphod’s third arm being used to operate a digital watch スマホ while my left could be free to help open sauce packets.

This was a form of torture to which I was to be subjected—for what or by whom I don’t think was ever identified—but it caused me very little dread, even if my toes were completely removed, maybe because running is blackening each nail and flip-flops have all but ravaged the soles of my feet to where they no longer seem part of my body proper. (Speaking of which, losing those Reefs on the curb and never being able to replace them was one of my many experiences teaching me to stock backups against discontinued product. Latest example are wired headphones, but soon it might be the Lightning adapters for them.) Like the universe is taking me back starting at the borders.

Update: Legs felt heavier than ever, and made it an effort to lift each one, like my heart wasn’t getting the bonus coordinating the work anymore. There’s barely anything left to my stride. Could the safe zone be closing in on my extremities?

It’s been rumored for years, and the technology is brilliant, something that harks back to my fascination with this one of the more innocuous pieces of standard crime-fighting equipment. And while Apple’s compromised on privacy concerns to alert anyone nearby, I bet there’s still enough time for a swing through the city to find out where the girl of your dreams lives your stolen bike is.