“Right, of course,” says the student, opening her blouse. She suspects that Rob is a fucking know-it-all, but she’s not the brightest, either, and her blouse is open. And she’s frantically rubbing Rob’s arm and brightly laughing and throwing her head back like a young foal. No reaction. Reactions from men have been missing for some time. The student is sure it’s a result of her lack of sexiness. No whistles on the street anymore, no unsolicited penises flashed at her, no random brushing up against her body parts on the tube, and most of all no sex. The student confuses sex with affection and has felt cold for some time, she feels invisible when the gropes and shouts fail to materialize, she misses the feeling of superiority during the sex act, when she could observe men unaffected by the proceedings in her body. Jesus, the way they lose themselves. You really feel very little at all with such a small penis inside you. But—

Suddenly there’s nothing there anymore. Rob has finished talking. He looks at his watch, which is connected to the chip implanted in his hand, and says: “I have to be going.” And then he leaves. Not even a goodbye hug. The young men have no urge anymore. They’re busy. On the computer. And with music. And games. And movies, and hanging around. And having no clue.

When the student lies down in bed, freezing because the heater doesn’t work, the voice-activated virtual assistant consoles her. “You’re sad because Rob left.”

“How do you know it was Rob,” asks the student, slightly shocked by the little tin can’s attentiveness.

The little tin can answers: “Rob Walter, twenty-four, theater student, moderately gifted, poor marks, numerous missed classes, bank account currently overdrawn: three hundred forty-five pounds. Suffers from chlamydia, white middle-class family from Birmingham, parents divorced, previous girlfriend had an abortion, moderate threat potential.”

WTF, thinks the student. That’s cold. She’s in arrears in karma points. When she went to buy beer yesterday the price had risen by a factor of six because she’d stayed out partying at the pub too long on two previous nights. Last night she was so drunk that she tried to cut off her breast with a razor blade. But it hurt, and on top of that she hadn’t covered the camera on her phone and today two hundred penalty points had been subtracted. Which is why she gave up the heat. Children. Hopefully she would get positive points for that.

The next day

PETER