1. good morning
goo
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Washington D.C.
0511
i’m late. what the fuck? i must not have eaten right yesterday.
“Hugo, make a note: check macros”
“Your *untitled* note has been updated.”
maybe i need to adjust my supplements. i can easily make up 11 minutes in food prep.
Miles had automatic lighting that increased intensity as it got later in his wake-up routine. He enjoyed the grogginess of an early wake-up, as if the pain of the activity was a signal of his success. He slammed a pre-prepared electrolyte cocktail with his morning vitamins. The sauna and ice bath were at their proper temperatures. Now hygiene: teeth, skin, hair. To the sauna.
infrared isn’t working today
“Hugo, add to my untitled note: call sauna guy”
“Your *untitled* note has been updated.”
Instead of his standard 3 minutes in the cold plunge, Miles spent 7 hoping to offset the loss of one aspect of his routine.
has it only been 5 minutes? my balls are starting to ache…
After drying off he put on a pot of coffee and returned to a meditation chamber. Silent. Padded acoustic walls. The smell of incense clung to the muted fabrics decorating the room. The light inside was slightly more dim than out, an ocular cue to relax. The front of the room held trinkety items from his travels, an open top bell and a padded gong, as well as an unlatched box of his intentions.
He ignored the shrine ritual today, as well as sound therapy, crossing his legs he descended into his mental palace.
Miles was a self starter, always busy, always on the up and up. His position required that he have complete mental clarity at all times. These moments weren’t designed to attain enlightenment. His day played out before him, reminders from yesterday, predictions of his interactions today. Innumerable mental scenarios sped through is internal vision. His eyes danced as if he was dreaming, but his eyelids remained closed. For those moments, Miles wasn’t living in his body, he had forgotten he had one. Sensation left him as actions were planned and re-planned. Eventually his mind settled. His eyes crept open to a brighter world, the only signal of time passing in this room.
time for coffee
A scoop of ghee and an herbal blend accompanied his dark first cup. He would not have a meal until after his meetings and workout.
0622
Day organization: digital brain dump. Miles mentally vomited all that appeared to him during his meditation into an application on his computer. It synced with his calendar and task list. He took a few seconds to walk outside during first light. A crisp morning had left dew from the changing temperature. Miles felt a light nostril sting as he inhaled. He flipped an outdoor meditation cushion and sat to enjoy that sting, focusing on his breathing.
0635
back to planning
He fiddled with his calendar, blocking time for meetings, prep and post-op review. The uncontrollables.
this will have to move
“Hugo, set reminder at 0800: Sharon to move 1100 meeting to Thursday”
“Your reminder today at 0800 has been set.”
yesterday’s misses. auto-fill. good.
Miles took a sip from his coffee, it was already lukewarm. He returned and refreshed the cup, taking note of his food supplies. Lunch was already made for the next two days. A dinner appointment at 1900 would suffice for his second meal.
good. i’ve already made up my sleep error.
Back at his desk, the sun had eclipsed the horizon. The interior lighting system matched the intensity.
A ping rang from his work phone.
too early for that
Your meetings have been cut for the day, Orella will see you at 0800.
Mile’s eyes narrowed, his chest rose, a sharp sigh flowed from his nostrils.
back to the schedule
All push to 12pm, shorter workout, working lunch. Possible dinner cancellation. He packed two lunches for a late work night.
0710
Short walk around the neighborhood.
His bag was packed: gym attire, undergarment change, supplements, workout accessories. He filled a his water bottle, and an extra from his integrated filtration system.
A suit lay ready on a padded bench at the foot of his bed. No wrinkles, no stains. Shoes: shiny enough. Miles rummaged for a different tie. Red. Micro-pattern. Bold, demanding attention.
i’ve never met Orella
0735
A sleek, immaculate sedan arrived at edge of his driveway. The high-beams flashed three times. Bag, phone, wallet, sunglasses. He packed the trunk. It closed automatically behind him as he entered the back seat.
“Good morning, Mr. McCall.”
“Morning.”
“Any preferences today?”
“The usual.”
A rapid fire news briefing played at low volume throughout the car.
Miles checked his phone: no new notifications. Email: no new emails.
A bead of sweat emerged left of his brow-line. A swift brush of his handkerchief dispatched it. He repeated his breathing exercise.
“I’ve detected an elevated heart rate. Would you like me to alter the entertainment?”
“No need.” Miles returned to his breathing.
no good signs this morning
Mile’s eyes jarred open. The car shvroomed to a halt.
“Apologies. There appears to be a family of ducks making a risky change of domicile.”
“Mallards.”
“Correcting… Mallards have interrupted our expedient passage.”
A lame chick trailed woefully behind.
“Wait for the last one, I don’t mind being late for him.” The awkward flow of the last duck reminded Miles of his childhood. Not ugly or useless, just mostly behind, like he was always late to the joke.
“I will alert the operator of the unexpected delay.”
0758
Miles gathered his things, tossing a lanyard badge over his tie and shouldering his gym bag. Natural light followed him into the lobby.
“Morning Mr. McCall!" The overly attractive, overly young clerk showed her perfect teeth with her practiced greeting. Somehow, Miles knew that smile and singsong were forced.
she should be an actress.
“Morning.” Miles brushed quickly through the entrance to his locker, switching his gym bag for a briefcase. A new phone was neatly placed on the eye level metallic shelf. Uninterrupted, he pocketed the phone and adjoining envelope and exited the room. An elevator was waiting.
0803
Miles scanned his badge and the elevator spun up, quickly taking him to the top floor. A narrow hallway stood before him. the path lit as he walked.
A double door with LED frame stood at the end of the corridor.
He swiped his badge and entered.
“Mr. McCall, have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand if it’s not too much trouble.” Miles felt more alert, activated, engaged when standing. Especially during meetings he hadn’t prepared for.
“Not at all, this will be brief.”
“Have my other obligations been informed?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent, I’d like an update sent to Sharon for my review.”
“Mr. McCall, you need not worry. Those appointments are not of your highest concern any longer.”
Miles raised an eyebrow, becoming unduly tamed and quiet. He did not like being manipulatively reassured that his job was not important. His whole life revolved around appointments.
focus
“Mr. McCall, we have a new assignment for you.”
“I rarely take assignments. My position is logistical in nature. Will this be a position modification?”
“No, simply an anomaly. Think of it as a break from the mold, an adaptive restructuring, a creative adjustment.”
Miles showed no response.
“This will be a fun break for you, a chance to try something new.”
sounds awful
“How does that sound?”
“Acceptable.”
“Your cooperation is paramount to the mission’s success. We demand 100% commitment to the excellence of the desired outcomes.”
“Expand on the desired outcomes.”
“They will be revealed, in time.”
Alarm bells rang through Mile’s subconscious. This was beginning to feel like a movie plot. And he was a pawn ready to be sacrificed.
“Do we have your full cooperation?”
“I’m completely uninformed at the moment.”
“Information will complicate your loyalty.”
creeeeeeeepppy
Miles had never interacted with the higher echelons of Aleraco. He didn’t mind that his reviews were not producing that result. His commitment wasn’t as much to the company as it was to his own work ethic. He was convinced someday he would run his own company, and this was just a stepping stone.
“Does this fall into my contract? I would like to review the details of my loyalty before rashly attaching it to an unscheduled project. My clients are of the highest priority at my position. I refuse to allow those accounts to go unserved.”
“Mr. McCall. We know all of your accounts. We have determined the value of your interaction with those clients. Let us remind you, all clients and accounts are property of Aleraco per your contract.”
“Understood.”
“You are correct, however. We have drafted a new contract to accommodate the alteration in your responsibilities. This will briefly supersede your current contract, including a pay-scale adjustment. If the alteration suits Aleraco, your current contract will be voided and replaced with an amended extension.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Your assistant has managerial access to the new documentation, but will not be permitted to review the details of your assignment. You will have no assistant for the duration of this assignment.”
“What is the duration of training for my temporary position?”
“Training is as needed and included in the assignment. You will not have to allocate personal time for study or preparation.”
“What are the conditions if I deny the assignment.”
“Mr. McCall, all assignments at Aleraco are at-will. You have no contractual obligation to accept our proposal.”
“How long do I have to decide.”
“End of day will suffice.”
Miles nodded in approval.
“The new communications device you received this morning has accompanying set up instructions. Once you have completed setup, your assignment will be available on the device. Operating beyond setup is a breach of your current contract. Be sure to submit the new assignment paperwork before beginning use.”
“Understood.”
“You make take the remaining hours of your workday to decide. Thank you for your attendance. This meeting is adjourned.”
An anti-vroom echoed in the room.
who, or what, was i just talking to…
The entry doorway re-opened behind Miles. Turning slowly, a hallway of similar beckoning lit in front of him. He proceeded to the elevator, swiping his badge. He was quickly returned to a familiar floor.
Richmond, VA
today feels different or at least that's what we’re telling ourselves, or someone is.
who is that inside voice?
hello?
"Today is a new day" was scribbled illegibly on the mirror in pink lipstick, the kind of color Frollace wouldn't miss, and never wore. It was a better marker anyways; and it was better to focus on the writing on the mirror than the strange wake-up complexion that always looked older than she'd like. Even as trite and obvious of a statement as—today is new—jogs the presence molecules.
maybe this is why women wear makeup.
Frollace tugged at her face, pulling dark under-eye droops into a stretchy, skeleton-like grimace.
eh, i'll soon be dead. death makes everything ugly.
but then… pretty again!
the great equalizer.
Pounding reverberated through the wall. Murmurs, yelling, a slammed door.
do i want drama or not? maybe something between unbothered and fiery passion.
but not that.
do those two have to fight in the AM?
Frollace scrabbled together an outfit, poorly, keeping her back to the mirror. She spun, attempting a surprise reveal. But there, staring back, was her tired self; now clothed.
ugh, i just don't care.
She rushed out of her fourth floor apartment.
"Eeeeek!"
She half tripped over a chair, a chair that eeks, and has wheels, and padded armrests.
that's not a chair.
"You forgot something” the chair hummed lightly.
Frollace brushed her, now excusably, frazzled chocolate waves behind her ears."This isn't a good-parking spot"
"You're the only person to ever complain."
"Is that universal wisdom, or objective truth?"
"Are those not the same thing?"
"A wise woman once told me that answering questions with questions was petulant."
"Words scoffed at should not be weaponized."
"I figured you would have forgotten."
"I'm not that old."
"I must be then, I have begun to forget habits"
"This is more of a ritual, don't you think?"
"If I wasn't such a clutz, I recon I'd be exalted in disciple-hood."
"Ah, am I a guru now?"
"Can't use legs, check. Speaks in riddles, check. Happy wrinkles, mocha freckles, double check?”
"Appearance does not make one a spiritual guide."
"I think we're one spirit quest away from enlightenment."
"Ambitious, can I ask a favor before we sever the ties of worldliness?"
"Shoot.”
"Can we have a normal day?"
"My aims were far more attainable.” Frollace gathered herself behind Ana, a colorful, but modestly bundled Peruvian woman. She held no accent, but retained her heritage with her garments and gusto.
"I wish I could have been around to see you walk."
"Girl, I did not simply walk, I danced. Life flows as readily as your hips."
"Does it break as readily? That explains the chair."
"Do you know why I still carry a cane?"
Frollace chuckled. “I almost lost my legs from your not-so-surprise attack. The world is dangerous enough for me without your threats.”
A slim elevator buzzed and drolled open. Empty carriage. The two rode in dim silence.
The lobby brightened their mood. "I'm going on a trip." Frollace said, deadpan, informatively. "You'll have to ask Ben to help you on Tuesdays."
"Hrumph. That boy has no sense."
"He doesn't need sense to carry groceries. Would you rather me set up a delivery? I don't know how long I'll be."
"Who is taking you?"
“Taking me…? Me. Nobody. I'm going alone.”
“Alone is for the aged. Youth should be shared."
"It's for work."
"It's boring when you lie.”
"It's half for work."
"Half of anything is scarcely truth. And never exciting."
The pavement stretched out in front of them. Frollace pushed gently.
so much for getting a head start, i'll have to stay late tonight. i really should have calendar, a planner, phone reminders? ugh, i could do with less phone pings and blerts and bleats.
Two blocks to the local market, Ana was well known, Frollace well known by association.
The two chattered through the market, greeting other regulars and employees. The chore was forgotten between interactions. The two were soon on their way home.
"You buy the same thing every week, it wouldn't be that hard to set up a delivery." Ana's eyes closed, head half turned. Frollace didn't need worded response. "Two weeks, max, you can make it two weeks?"
The urban tree lined walkway sprinkled with fall colors. Wheels rumbled in a rhythmic beat upon the uneven sidewalk. Cars passed gently without event.
A single bag crinkled in Ana's lap. Frollace peeked around Ana's narrow shoulders. Her eyes were closed, a tranquil smile held her chin upright.
meditation or nap? is napping meditating or meditating napping. she's like a cat. i know she's still some fraction of alert behind those lids.
A ca-chunk of the ramp propped Ana’s eyes back open."Thank you for a slice of normal."
The elevator was ready for their arrival. A welcome silence hung between the whirs. "I'll talk to Ben tonight, I have to get to work."
Ana nodded.
Pasadena, CA
“Another Malibu home returned to ITS home today. May it rest in peace, or rather, in pieces.”
that was too bold for a bad joke. i bet nobody noticed.
The ken doll expression—off blue, too brightly colored blue suited, smiley, fake smiley; were those dentures? toothy chatter—jumped off the screen.
Rowland was tired of the constant recycling of similar shaped commentators all poking a stupid uninformed—how could those informing us be uninformed?—opinion. It appeared that news was yet another guise of misdirection. It was worse than entertainment.
Rowland wasn’t tuning in for entertainment.
It all seemed like a conspiracy, but one that didn’t target the easy to target. It was easy to target people who could be labeled as whining about their own inability (aka poor people). Another mansion dropping into the ocean wasn’t national news. The masses don’t care about million dollar homes falling into an anticipated demise. Oceans rising and increasing instability of fault lines was an easy excuse to numb “educated” folks. The “uneducated” were cheering at divine justice for assaulting the privileged.
Rowland still smelt something brewing. If he were a supervillain, these would definitely be the type of people he would target.
Of course there were plenty of crackpot theories on forums and message boards, but Rowland wasn’t the type to obsess online. His obsessions manifest in the back alleys and grungy shadows.
He could barely finish online posts about these things, mostly skimming until he found too-easy-to-find reasons to discredit the writer.
are all writers mad?
Sadly, the madhatters were more logical than newscasters, and were wildly adept at connecting coincidence.
The T.V. was still blabbering and flashing colors that danced across the dim room. Reflections of the latest storm played on Rowland’s cornea, his face as unmoving as his thrifted furniture. His eyes bloomed as if he was watching, but he had exited this world for a brief exploration.
His imagination held his consciousness hostage sometimes, leaving his body buffering. He would rarely let others perceive this catatonic state, appearing like an NPC (non-player character) on one of those lifestyle games. Maybe he was waiting for a new quest, or holding the secret for another character. Maybe he was a background character.
those games were unrealistic anyways
Rowland often frustratingly posited, annoyed that people spend their actual lives trying to develop a digital self, that so easily gets deleted.
though it seems lives (or in this case homes) are easily deleted and forgotten too.
“Insurance companies in a surprising economic storm have decided to cease covering Global Change Events.”
It didn’t seem like news to Rowland.
if the whole world was gonna melt, i don’t think we are going to be concerned with deductibles.
Rowland was waiting for something like that, something big, something to care about.
All of life seemed to be side quests to him. Learn that skill to complete that mission and win reward X to be regarded as the guy who did Y.
But Rowland wanted to be a living story, a legend of his time, at least in his own eyes. Really he wanted to be a mild representation of that Legend on the outside, like an unnoticed brilliant artist that gets recognized after death. He didn’t imagine fame or attention being enjoyable. It seemed like an acceptable craving: something more exciting than do-it-yourself taxes and the newest superhero movie flop.
The television droned on, but Rowland had left, shuffling around his bedside dresser for a pad and a pen. He wanted to log the recent cliff collapse in case he finally found someone who could validate the occurences.
Nothing to be found.
He shuffled through the kitchen. A sharpie appeared in his junk drawer, next to some ancient bandaids and a collection of twist-ties.
He jotted the date and approximate location on his forearm and pulled his sweater to his hands. His watch glimmered.
eh, i’ll be late again.