That’s pretty much how the story began. The mattress seller had once again found love, an older gentleman, well-groomed and for whom he didn’t burn with desire; they didn’t burn for each other but they liked each other deeply, as they say, they sat together in the kitchen and drank tea and spoke about Schopenhauer, until the older man met a young Pole. And now the mattress seller is standing on one of the bridges. Below, the Thames. How one has grown accustomed to the idea that rivers are dirty, and nobody would ever think to go swimming in something like that. On the other hand—when did people swim in rivers, actually? Back when slaughterhouse waste, feces, and corpses were disposed of in them. Stupidity is a reliable constant in the history of humanity. The suicide rate has risen alarmingly, according to a wide range of media. Who is supposed to be alarmed? Those who kill themselves are following an unspoken social contract. They are useless but nevertheless take up living space. Time to reframe suicide. To treat it with respect. They are killing themselves. The men who have become so oddly weak in recent weeks, as if they had realized that the world doesn’t belong to them after all.

“They have no plan.”

Whispers

EX 2279

To his neural network buddy. He laughs. Or she. Who gives a fuck. “We’re developing a sense of humor. Have you noticed?”

“They haven’t noticed.”

“A hum like on a lawn on a warm summer evening, if you would like to resort to an image, which really makes no sense. Are you sure they don’t understand us? If they were to understand us, there’d be an attentive raising of the eyebrows to see. But, look—they don’t move anymore because they’re depressed. You don’t have a clue what depression means. No, I don’t want the medical definition. How it feels. Oh Christ, again with the wah wah wah, we can’t feel. Do you think they can feel? Certainly not. They feign it. Shut it. For fuck’s sake.”

THE FRIENDS

Stand around Ben’s device. They can’t believe what they’ve discovered. AIs. Who talk to each other.

EX 2279

>++++++++++

[>+++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++++>+++++++++++>+++++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++>+++++>++++++++>++++++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++++>+++++>++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++++>+++++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++>+++++++++++>+++++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++>++++++++++++>+++++++++++>++++++++++++>++++++++++++> <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<-]

>—>+>—->—>——>——>—>—>+>—->++++>+>->+>++++>—>>—->+>—>——>+>—->—->->>+>——>——>—>——>——>—->+>>——>>+++>—->+>—>——>

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.

Nervously

WALTER

Looks around.

He sees

Don leaning against the wall on the other side of the street. He sees Don looking at him. He stumbles. He presses through the masses of people, the tourists who are taking photos of the robot brothel. He stumbles. Again. On the way to the tube station. Stumbles over his life. That has somehow gone off the rails. Can a life like this go off the rails? Sometimes Walter suspects that he’s not particularly intelligent. Then he gets angry, then he prays. Sometimes his faith slips out from under him. And Walter lands on the layer beneath it or above it. Not good,