Robots Don’t Think

The toddler hangs straight-legged from his arm cradle while he bangs with the side of his fist on the plate glass of the storm door that he had to re-install because her husband knew nothing more on how to do anything but sit on his ass and have somebody else do it. When she comes …

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To Fatso

Petty looked like he needed a hand. “Let me help you.” I said to him. He was dragging the body of a man across the hallway, toward the stairwell. “Much obliged.” Petty returned to me, in his normal courteous manner. He pushed his gold-tinted sunglasses up his nose. I attempted to pick up the man’s …

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