I walked into the kitchen, where we had once

I walked into the kitchen, where we had once made spaghetti together, but

when I die I hope to be buried underneath the kitchen floor. It wouldn't take much to lift up the tiles and smash through the concrete foundation to the sacred earth below

that stored all the curry flavor and smells of my alive days. I loved curry so much. I had to be buried where I can smell it every day. Hopefully my children will cook curry every

which way but that of the dish that's buried here with me. The sauce that once boasted a spicy, smoky complexity now reeks of ashes and death. The cemetery caretaker

Has seen an increase in business, unprecedented. Suddenly there was a demand for them and the communalistic schools couldn't produce enough potential employees. It was a low skill

uninteresting scenario with little chance of success. It's why he built his factory of self designing AI robots.Their goal: make police, soldiers, workers and politicians replacing

the robots that are already doing these jobs. His robots were not any better than the robots they replaced but they were his robots and he got paid for them. He didn't get anything

from the old robots except inappropriate comments and sexual harassment. He was glad they were gone. He had brought them up to HR on multiple occasions only to be rebuffed every

time. "This robot looks old," HR would comment, "Let's buff him up, again." So they'd buff him until he glowed in the light. They looked golden, but he just looked cranky.