He was roused from his unconscious state to the cordial sound of the monotone hum. The terribly quiet, incorrigible hum that slowly drifted up and down the empty, petty little sidewalk. Up and down the polygonal robot went, spinning it's miniature camera, actively watching. Joe put his DateLight down and rubbed his blue, blurry eyes. "Must be noon," he thought, wondering where the time went. The thought itself was a leaf flying in the wind he couldn't grasp; all thoughts had become this way. "I have work at thirty," another stick in the river of consciousness said, floating past his attention. Twelve thirty was the time he was told to work, and not a day went by where he was late. As if by magic, he stood up, stretched his gangly limbs, fighting the stars blinding his eyes. Tingles radiated from his fingertips all the way down to his unused toes. A loud thud then met his posterior. Joe cracked his knuckles, put his unkempt feet up, and grabbed the blanket on the floor. A holographic floating screen appeared above his resting head. With the flicker of an impulse, every demand was met. 

"Hello, Joe," the animated avatars spoke. Joe remained conscious but ultimately unaware. Another impulse sparkled, the machinery responded. "Hello, gang," a robotic voice mimicking Joe's, churned out. Joe's avatar stood up in the virtual room and walked to his designated seat. Joe kept his eyes closed with his cubital fossa darkening his vision. The animated avatars spoke, held the meeting and went on their way. Joe remained on his back, unaware of anything that was "spoken." He rolled over, grabbing a miniature box to be held in one's hand. With a passing synapse Joe was up and dating again. Well, his avatar was up and dating again. The DateLight warmly fit into his spindly fingers. Vigorous button taps were made after this grab. "Tap." "Tap." "Tap." The buttons from around the world were speaking to each other in an orchestrated code, unintelligible to those unknowing of such technology. A woman, or rather her crafted model appeared on Joe's screen. If Joe weren't in the state he was in, perhaps something more than his loins would have lit up due to this fact. The two avatars spoke about all sorts of small, limited things. "Favorite color?" "Red." "Favorite eat?" "Spaghetti." "The date is now over," a womanly voice spoke. Joe was happy; he finally found a date.

A thumping in Joe's head pounded, grinded, burned his neck and shoulders. "Coming right up," was what one could imagine the machinery responding with. He sat up on his bodily shaped couch and stretched his arms. He never looked up, only down. Before he knew it, two tablets and a glass of water were forced down his unused esophagus. A pounding, to the rhythm of "1-2-3," then ravaged Joe's plain door. "Hello, are you in there?" a voice rang. Like a startled deer Joe quickly looked at his locked door. "It's Charity, you know, your sister," the soft voice said. As a zombie, Joe met the knocking on the door. With the snap of a demand, the door was unlocked. "Ugh, you look like shit," Charity said walking in, as he closed the door behind her. Charity had a lively sense about her, one that Joe was often subconsciously jealous of. "Did you get my message?" she asked. A mimic of Joe's voice was then heard overhead, "No." Charity swatted the air in her face as if she saw a fly. "Don't talk to me with that bullshit, use your real voice." Joe begrudgingly tapped the side of his temple to the same knocking of a "1-2-3." 

"I found you a date, a real date. Not those weird avatar things." It bothered Charity to see her brother this way; to see the world this way. "I hate that you surround yourself with this filth. Being dedicated to this, it's not normal." Joe's voice box rumbled to life like a vintage, stalling car. It was a raspy, tired, unused voice. Joe struggled to form the mouth movements necessary to speak. It was as if a baby were going to utter it's first words. But, in a short time, he was conversing as normal. "I don't need a date like that, what I have is fine." Charity crossed her soft, but covered in wool arms. "Don't lie to me, look at you. All you do is stay in here, there's a world out there you know." "You know, I don't need you to come in here and criticize me," Joe snapped. One couldn't tell the difference between a child wanting a toy, told no. "I came here to say I want you to actually see the outdoors. A real life date wouldn't be so bad." Joe imagined the thought of seeing a woman, a living woman. One that his eyes could freshly gaze upon. 

"Ok, I'll listen. What's her name?" "It doesn't matter, all that matters is we have to be there at twenty. Get ready and let's go." Joe tapped his temple thrice, and let the machinery around him ready himself. He dragged his feet to the shower, and in seconds, out again. Clothes met his body before he could even fathom asking the machine for them. The two left the hotel-like room with no more delay. Thirty flights of stairs were then flown by, passing thousands of untouched doors. The elevator doors opened with a woosh. A tiny machine met Joe and Charity near the exit of the lobby. "Leaving so soon?" it whirred, clunked and computed. Charity sighed, grabbing their two identification cards. She waved them past the rectangular scanner on the machine's belly. "Ok, have a nice trip, CHARITY AND JOE," their last names were ineligible due to the wear and tear on the screen. The machine was a fossil, and used only but once or twice a month. They met the street with a wave of crisp air. Orange and brown leaves danced around them unnoticed, only slightly made note of by Charity. "These leaves, huh? Let me take a photo really quick." She snapped a picture of a few leaves on the ground. Joe stared for a moment, but his head, unsupported, leaned forward and down again. "Just for the memories," she said.

Joe clutched onto his thin frame, shaking, clinking, rattling. "This girl better be pretty." Charity rolled her eyes, "Why didn't you grab a jacket?" "Stupid computer must've forgotten." They walked down, down, down. Not a soul was seen other than the usual robot patrolling the area. A restaurant met their venture in due time. "You ready?" Charity asked. Joe shook his head yes, although, his heart pounded, drummed, skipped in anticipation. The pair entered the establishment.

"How many?" the shapely android asked. An untrained eye wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an android and a human in this instance. Charity skipped the programmed dialogue by pressing her identification card to the screen in front of the android hostess. She tapped the screen rapidly, and in haste, she tapped it aggressively. "Oh, your table is right this way." The restaurant was empty. A hollow feeling hung in the atmosphere. The entire place felt abandoned despite being open. The android helped Joe and Charity turn the corner. Joe was met with a surprise, "This isn't a date, these are your friends." Charity grabbed Joe's back and sat him down at the table. She whispered in his ear, "Just socialize for once." He rolled his eyes but ultimately knew he had no choice but to participate in the conversation. Charity sat down next to Joe. The table was circular, wooden, and cramped it's diners nearly knee to knee. "Joe, this is Dave and Irene." Joe motioned his hand to say hello. Awkwardness filled their hearts, Charity conversated. "So, did you guys see that new movie?" Dave said, "Yeah, we saw it. The one with the hero who defeats the villain right?" "Yeah, that one." Joe kept his head down, trying to latch on to the rapid sound waves. 

"Or was it the one with so and so, fighting in space?" Charity spoke, "No, no, you were right the first time." Joe began to tire of the situation. A burning, an uncomfortable urge boiled in his spine. His foot began to tap. "Did you see what president O'Connor did?" Dave asked. "Why yes I did, that creep." Charity responded. Joe began to roll his head around in circles as the boiling water was now in the back of his head. It burned and raged on, spewing out of the pot, burning the entirety of his mind. It was funny, in any other conversation he wasn't so angry. Why was he so angry? He cracked his knuckles like bubble wrap. The conversation moved on endlessly. Their food arrived through the middle of the table. When they all ordered they ordered through the use of a red button on the side of the table. They each spoke into the technology awaiting their orders. Thomas ordered chicken strips, Charity ordered a fish of some sort, Dave ordered a vegan burger, and Irene a salad. Upon ordering Irene struggled for the microphone to hear her. "Salad," she demanded. The light under the microphone lit red, "Say again please?" "Salad," she shouted. This debacle nearly went on for 3 minutes. When the order went through she scoffed, "For fuck’s sake. You'd think they'd have mastered this by now."

"Don't get me started on creeps," Irene spouted. The conversation continued on, and on, and on. "An actual man came into my store today," she stopped to chew her food. "He didn't even donate to our charity." The table ate their food shaking their heads. Charity asked, "Do people even care anymore?" Joe began to feel an uneasy feeling. Irene chewed sloppily, like a cow with a broken jaw. With each grinding of her teeth, a smack of the lips soon followed. Had they always eaten this way? He began to feel ill. "I also shouted at a human man today," Dave suggested. "Idiot yelled at me for doing my job wrong." He too smacked his lips. The sauces from the burger leaked out onto his face. Dave began to contemplate, was it a human? He brushed the thought off without giving it much of a pondering. Joe began to toss and turn in his seat. Dave stopped speaking, "You ok, Joe? You look terrible." With each word said Joe could hear the pure waste of food sloshing together and spewing out of his mouth. The paste in his food hole overflowed. "I'm cool," Joe said. "Anyways, I wanted to kill him right there. Kid you not, fantasized about strangling the bastard." They all agreed on their anger towards the general public. Dave then snapped his fingers, "You get me Joe, don't you?" "Actually, no, I don't." Dave waved his hand, "Yes you do." Irene then said, "I just keep saying, stay home if you're gonna be an asshole." Charity said, "Yeah, like, they have the shopping online now for a reason." 

Irene spoke again, Joe wanted to rock back and forth. A robotic waiter refilled their drinks, "Anything else?" The table declared no. Irene, Charity, and Dave chatted about the robots. "Weird little things, no?" Charity spoke. "They took over so quickly, I hate it." Irene stabbed her salad repeatedly. "I hate it too, devious things." "People can't just be in the moment nowadays," Charity said, glaring at Joe. Dave snapped his fingers yet again, "Real quick, what about what happened to that man, Howard?" The table sighed. Charity spoke up, "Can't believe it, I really can't." Joe sat agonizing. "Maybe you just don't get it," Irene spoke to Joe suddenly. Joe turned his head, confused. "You don't work in the public anymore." He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "I mean, you just will get it one day when you have a real job." Joe still didn't understand. Dave said, "She means you can't understand our anger towards the public." Dave finished his burger with a giant gulp of caffeinated sugar. "You just couldn't understand," Charity spoke. Joe had had enough. He excused himself and left. After his leaving, they spoke little of his absence. The only words spoken were, "Don't leave a tip, they're just robots."

Joe began to hyperventilate. What had come over him? He needed someone to talk to. Reality began to feel expanded, but viewed through a narrow keyhole. It was as if he were staring at the cosmos through a keyhole in a door previously not present. He ran to his home and shut the door. The technology whirred alive. "Hello, Joe." He gasped for air like a fish out of water. He collapsed on his couch. For a moment, he reached for his technology to immerse himself, but he stopped his hand from reaching, he stopped his hand from helping him get away. He quickly became annoyed at the conversation held earlier. Had humans always spoken in such short phrases? He recollected the scraps but his memory was fuzzy. They had all, with each individual sentence, spoken no more than twenty syllables in said sentences. He clutched his head. Had they spoken with such little purpose? The lights on the boxes and gizmos around him spoke to him. "Date, me, now?" He recalled his useage and even his own dialect. Joe realized he too was lost and no better than the conversation held before. He tried to think, he tried to speak, but he couldn't think over the twenty syllable limit. Why did he live this way, what had he been doing?!

He checked the time and date using the technology. A ghastly white filled his already pale skin. What were any of them doing? Where did the time go? What was it all for? He briefly awoke among the asleep, but refused to see their own similarities. For what difference is there between the two other than a state of description? Before he could even try to form a twenty-first syllable, his brain itched for the technology. It was probably safer to indulge, right? It wouldn't hurt anyone to just try and calm down playing a quirky game or two. He often played games when his heart rate spiked over a specific desired beat per minute. They were breathing games, designed to mechanically engineer the breath in order to calm oneself.

Joe sat and exhaled. He put the box in his hand and felt it radiate to life. He sighed as if he were coming into a warm house on Christmas night. He was now home, and carried on as if nothing had happened. What a fever that had overcome him! His head tilted back, his shoulders relaxed. Why had his body even wanted to ache? He shook his head rapidly. "Weird," he thought. The door locked itself and a blanket was put on Joe. He yawned and continued in his endeavors of things not tangible.