Saturday, April 01, 2017

 

The Thinker on a Block of Ice


Roark luckily reached a human.
Robots never assured him.

Even though Mr Chance quoted
the robot, Roark worried less.

“It says don’t fret about a temp
of 136. Start getting concerned
around 150.”

In the meantime he was to seek
every opportunity to cool down.

In the Non-Radiation Zone he had
permission now to enter, courtesy
of Mr Chance, he could sit on a
block of ice.

The gossip there pointed to young
women wearing clothes again.

The doctors saying on All-Media
that it was unhealthy.

“But, aesthetically,” Roark remarked
to a paunchy Lillian on the closest
block, “adding a bit of color?”

She’s firm, though, in calling
them whores.

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