By Simon Funk

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Again they exchanged looks. ” I added. “Well,” the second man started, but the first interrupted him. ” he asked. ” the woman asked. The two men looked at each other to see what the other had to say, then both tried to answer at once. “Maybe we set the throttle wrong and he’s running faster than real time,” said one. “Maybe we got lucky and the mappings were close to his natural ones,” said the other. “No, it’s been only maybe ten hours since I woke up,” I said. “Are you running me with the fast-ltp flag?

What defines a man, anyway? I wasn’t upset by this, more uplifted. I thought no, I am not a man—not just a man—I am something more. And we had sex, and it was implausibly good. Afterwards, she dreamily looked me in the eyes, and slid her hand around the back of my neck. ” I sighed in turn, pursed my lips while trying to pucker them at the same time, and pressed them to hers. “Nice fish kiss,” she said, and suddenly I noticed I was feeling very tired. She noticed this too, and I felt her fingers sliding up the back of my neck, pressing firmly inward.

Having seen no indication of contact or interference from the outside, how does this place keep ticking? The answer is a bit odd, but fits nicely with my new theory. Laura works at a bakery—but not very hard. The bakery is always overstaffed, and always produces far more goods than it could possibly sell. The excess, besides the fraction that goes home with the employees, is simply thrown away, never given out. Laura said that besides the fact that there simply isn’t anyone who can’t afford to buy bread, it is taboo to give handouts except to the injured—at which point she peered at me with a very cute, sympathetic expression and kissed me on the forehead.

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