I’m not trying to say I am morose or anything, but every now and again, like a hibernating animal, I emerge—torpidly—from my room; I squint against the sun as the brightness of day burns my eyes, and stumbling through the parking lot, I find my car. My eyes adjust. It’s not like I love sitting in my car for hours on end, but more often than not, I’ll drive for extended periods of time—just drive around, and behold the world. But it can be difficult to discern the real people from the robots (they are nearly identical.) You see, it’s physically impossible to differentiate the two by simply staring—you must observe what they are wearing. And if you inspect them from the bottom up, it is a lot easier to tell—humans wear white shoes (or sometimes yellow); robots wear green shoes. You can always tell by shoes. It’s hard to tell by the other stuff they wear though (pants and shirts and stuff); it can vary widely, so there is really no rule of thumb (except for the shoes.)
Sometimes, people think I’m weird. Maybe it’s my bearing? Perhaps it’s what I’m wearing? Because surely, there is nothing wrong with staring. In fact, staring is actually a sign of caring, so blatant, it’s blaring. No, there is nothing wrong with staring. Why, people stare at me all the time; but when I stare back, there always seem to be some issue or another. I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, when I glare at someone, I am of course attempting to make contact with my mind and tell them my life story—so we can get to know one another. If they would just listen, I’m sure they would find me so interesting (and we’d be great friends.) But usually, they get an attitude. And the robots never come to a conclusion about anything, whatsoever; we just stare at one another’s stupid face forever and a day.
So when you’re speeding down the highway, watching gnats go splat against your front window, and happen to look over (at the car beside you) and see me glaring at you, don’t be alarmed. First of all, I am using the position of your car on the road to steer my car, so there’s really no risk of wrecking or anything like that. Second of all, our society, as a whole, avoids one another way too much, and I’m just trying to be friendly. I mean Jesus, I’m not some flapjack wildcat; I not going to jump out my window, onto the hood of your car, and start growling and slobbering all over the place.
A lot of times, if you see me, and happen to wonder what is going through my head, it would be best to make psychic contact and find out. Sometimes I don’t even think about anything. But sometimes, I replay conversations and such in my head—you may catch a strange, abject horror flash across my face, from time to time (this is nothing to be alarmed of; you’d get scared, too, if you knew about all the robots.) Usually I am pretty good about being normal and all. I’m a pretty neat guy (when I’m not slobbering all over the place.)