1. Excerpt from Vocation Status Zero:
“Uda, two pints of your best, please, for me and m’girl, and keep ‘em coming,” Sam announced, walking into the bar like he owned the place. “Today we celebrate!”
“Oy, Sammy, where’s all that merriment coming from?” Lud hunched down from behind the bar to face Sam, who, standing next to the big man, looked a bit frail.
“I’m a knitter, official,” Sam waved the balls of yarn before Lud’s face. The barkeep smiled.
“Ay, I see you’ve got your gear. You gonna be making wee sweaters from now on, Sammy boy?”
Uda, busy shining a beer mug, laughed a full, jubilant laugh only a woman like her could, a woman with no kids to speak of and an arms-like-tree-trunks silly man by her side. She laughed so hard the bar swayed and so infectiously that all the patrons started to giggle.
“You just jealous. I know you, Lud, but don’t you worry, you gonna be on top of my list. First garments made by these two hands will go straight to you and your lovely lady. Although I’m not entirely convinced I could conjure up something that would fit a giant like yourself.” Sam positioned himself comfortably on a barstool, gesturing for Di Ma to sit beside him.
“If we was gonna wait for those wee garments of yours, Sammy boy, me and Uda would walk stark naked for a long, long time. You gonna sell, ain’t ya?” Lud had a spark in his eye, which meant that bartering had started.
“Ay, you know me well,” Sam agreed.
“How much?”
“For you? Two barrels of your finest for two yarn balls. And I get to keep ‘em here.”
“Did you hear that, fellas? Sammy here must’ve lost his mind. Two barrels? I’ll give you one small barrel for seven yarn balls, and I’ll let you keep it here as a sign of goodwill.”
“Five yarns.”
“Six.”
“Done.”
They shook on it, and five yarn balls changed hands. Sam beamed, thinking of how the day was just getting better and better.
2. Excerpt from To The Moon, Never Coming Back:
A tiny red and blue spider bot sneaked into the bathroom stall in a vehicle charging station on Highway 62, where Melbourne was currently relieving herself. It started its ascend up the scuffed, dull beige door. From the bottom up, it continued on its vertical journey, passing by signs of human need to leave a mark on this world, especially when in the toilet:
“Don’t drink&drive, take acid&telport,” the graffiti said, then there was a very anatomically correct drawing of a penis; “Jesus loves you <3” written in permanent marker with neat handwriting, and just under it, “no he doesn’t” desperately scratched out.
The bot continued to climb up stealthily through another drawing of a penis, this one way too big; then it moved on through “Jhonny D. is an ashole” with three thick exclamation marks; and finally, at the very top of the door, it reached a peace symbol. There it anchored itself, turned around, pushed its butt forward, and released a red beam of light, scanning Melbourn’s face.
*
Melbourn felt the police bot’s presence before she spotted it – the unpleasant tingling of the scanner on her face, a too-familiar sensation. She shot up, panicked, leaped forward, and, having forgotten her pants were still on the floor, lost her footing and bumped her head into the stall’s door (middle of the second penis). Fortunately for Melbourn, the chain reaction triggered by her forehead colliding with the graffiti caused the spider bot to fall, start spinning uncontrollably, and slide to the booth on the left. There, someone else’s foot (classic cowboy boot, light brown leather) squashed it to bits.
“You ok in there?” the voice that most probably belonged to the boot’s owner asked, “They’re everywhere these days, nasty little buggers. Seriously, what were they thinking, legalizing these things?” (sound of a flushed toilet).
“Yeah, I’m good,” she answered, although she wasn’t, not truly, her heart still beating franticly. She tried to slow down her breathing. If the police bot’s mission had been successful, it would have zapped Melbourne into oblivion and summoned reinforcements. She stumbled out of the stall, her fingers tugging on a stubborn zipper of her overalls, and faced the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen. The boots' owner was leaning against the sink, oozing casual confidence. Painfully aware of her own awkwardness, Melbourn pointed at the tap.
“Oh, go ahead, I’m done,” said the legs-for-days ebony-skinned goddess, but she didn’t leave the bathroom. In fact, she didn’t move an inch.
Melbourn’s rosy cheeks turned crimson, a common occurrence when she was facing another human being (or the sun); nevertheless, she still found it rather uncomfortable.
“Ddo… ddo you mind?” she stuttered.
“Not at all,” the mesmerizing stranger replied, gracefully shifting herself, allowing Melbourn just barely to access the tap.