2002-10-08 || 2:37 p.m.

|| a calculating kind of exhaling. ||

you're a robot really, unknowingly put together with a mish-mash of pieces. fused and stitched and tacked on temporarily. arms and legs and a network of mechanical parts, organs tissue cell nuts and bolts and magnets. you are unaware of the circuitry and their origin. you do not pause to ponder the surge of electricity that causes you to blink or the spark that fires just briefly when you catch your breath when a car comes too close.

you are working parts. you are a machine of the most efficient sort.

so it comes to a surprise when there is a catch in the receptors. the way the coronary chamber constricts with jealousy. the way the air valve shuts tight at the thought of other robots together and dreaming. an increase in pressure and heat. a syncopated ticking. you then fully recognize the foreign nature of metal and borrowed parts, the ferocity of error in function, and you clamp on to the cold spots on your arm where skin should be, where fingerprint would reside, and heave exhaust.

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