The Dinner Party
[Fiction] A couple prepares for another predictable evening with old friends:
“Later, he came out of the bathroom just as the toilet was completing its roar. She was no longer in the kitchen. He took another cheese and cracker. He walked past the dressed table to the living room. She sat on the sofa reading the same magazine he had been reading. He stood in the middle of the room and raised his hands. ‘Where are they?’
“‘If there’s one thing that’s predictable,’ she said.
“‘But it’s almost forty-five minutes.’
“‘They’ll be eating some very cold appetizers.'”
The Unnamed
[Not single-page] A lawyer can’t stop walking:
“He worked past ten most nights, and most nights found him sufficiently absorbed in something that required only the turn of a page or the click of a mouse — too little activity for the sensors to register. The lights frequently switched off on him. He’d look up, surprised again — not just by the darkened office. By his re-entry into the physical world. Self-awareness. Himself as something more than mind thinking. He’d have to stand, a little amused by the crude technology, and wave his arms around, jump up and down, walk over and fan the door, sometimes all three, before the lights would return.
“That was happiness.”