We leave the bar least oriented of all its patrons.

But it is, he's shouting, no, it is useless! So stop trying to convince me! Go back to your technoharem and suck on the teats of the Mothers you never had, then choke to death on your Fathers' ejaculations!

I stop fretting when I realize he isn't talking to me, and instead to group of teenagers on the other side of the street.

They look up from their cell phones, sneer and snort at the drunk middle-aged man flailing his arms.

I take the flask from him and finish it, for all our sakes.

I am not going to stand here and lick my ballsack until it dissolves into dust, he says, still talking to them, but his voice now hushed and hoarse, his gaze at the ground. Reassess the babble. Seriously. Data comes in, download it, yeah; but fucking read it.
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