Friday, July 25, 2014


Finding the Right Size

When the Octonicks take over, I think their
insane restrictions will filter down slowly.

So I have to call in Bidge. In a former life, he
could have been a jockey. That tiny.

“The  word we just got on you, unfortunately,
is that you take up too much space.”

“Me? I live in a studio apartment with
three other guys, bunks to the ceiling.
Fart and they'd murder me. We have a
minuscule, old-fashioned TV. None of this
Feel-a-Vision or whatever it's called.

I'm small, my life is small, I'm using almost
no resources! Just the threads I wear."

“Nice ones. But, I'm sorry. You can't go home
tonight. Rather to...Compression. I hear it's not
so bad there.”

“Have you seen the homeless at the railroad
station? They look like dirty breadboxes!”

“Can't do a thing,” I inform him.

About a month later, I hear a squeak and get
up to look at my chair.

But it comes from Bidge in the opposite one.
He looks like a cigar box someone has left.

"You've got to use me now or they crush
me altogether!"

"But what can you do? You're too small to work
here anymore. Maybe a transfer?  To play with
children or something?"

"I'll blow you!" he pipes.

"Too small even for that."

A great tragedy.

At any rate, he eventually wills me his clothes
and I sell them. Is that heartless?

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Gotta force a fit!
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