Mira fell on her back, so I reached out.

Mira fell on her back, so I reached out. "You look like you could use a hand," I said. She held on and I pulled. Moment of truth... uh-oh. I couldn't lift her. My shoulder popped

out and my back caved in. I fell on top of her, moaning and writhing in agony. Mira kneed me in the groin repeatedly, furthering my extremely painful incapacitation. Finally,

I managed to get her to complete the questionnaire re. potting compost preferences. If I'd known market research was so physical, I'd have signed up sooner. Mira was passionate abo

ut everything. This fever-pitched lust about anything that came into her view. It's exhausting. Mira yanked my foot up and said, "My god, feet. Foot! This is what its about!

She began to massage my feet. I closed my lids and relaxed for the first time in years. Then I felt moisture on the toes, and a pulling sensation. I was shocked to discover fish

Of whip cream. Licked straight off the robot's fingers. If you wanted your sandwich, you paid the ferryman. Robot was wise enough to get his while the gettin' was good. Life down

at the junkyard was hard for the Robot bunch. Everybody kept focusing on the nuts and bolts of everything, yet, nobody could manage a good sandwich recipe and metal is

a fickle mistress. The robots tried frozen metal meals, but found them inferior and preferred to make their meals from scrap. Their fave dessert was a tin roof sundae. They opened

an auto repair shop out in the desert but had to close it the same day when a sniper took a dislike to their cans of oil. Without oil the robots like this story could not continue.