Monday, December 3, 2007

Trompe le Monde

Sleepy eyes adjust to nicotine stained walls and cheap curtains. Waves of light splash off the carpet that had certainly seen better days. Dead cigarette butts lay just shy of their glass tomb; their impending doom reduced to nothing but another burn in the rug.

Her exterior is hot, literally, she is radiating. It's a nice feeling though, so close. She hums, letting me know she's there still. She hasn't moved an inch since I fell asleep. Those sharp contours, that sleek and slim body, they said she was the best. I didn't think I could afford her, but in this business, you can't afford not to have the best.

My fingers get her to do whatever it is I want. I own her, she responds to all of my commands quickly and without a word. She's all I need, and she's mine. After last night, everything we tried, I wasn't sure she'd be this warm to me, but she's indifferent. Underneath that pristine chassis, just circuits, just like all the others.

(Falling asleep next to your computer in bed;You may not be alone, but you're pretty dead inside.)