March 29, 2014 by Sez
Robot arms dress me in synthetics. A computer program plans a sanctioned makeup style. I insert my face into the niche provided, eyes closed, feel damp, hot, dry and today’s look is sealed on for the time being.
Sustenance comes via a pouch of high energy paste, squeezed like toothpaste down the throat the flavour, I’m assured, like what peaches once were.
Living costs little enough, but is priced highly. Work is scarce but necessary. At the hotel, I’m paid to smile at guests, each whim is catered to by machine, but machines cannot smile, and smiles keep business booming.