Silky touch
Tenderness in bloom
Errs on the side of caution
Heaven and Earth;
Going round and round
Like the worm that inches forward
And slips beneath the frills.
Is this not the most delightful treat?
~ThuArtPeatrick
^1.2m
Tickles: 69.23
Comments: 17k
Engagement: 80%
Finn leaned across the booth and grinned at the club sparrow sitting across from him. Liza was her name. Her hair was tied up in a sassy ponytail, accentuating her large almond-shaped eyes.
“Come on, little bird,” implored Finn with hands together as if in prayer. “Just a little peek,” he said and reached down.
Liza swatted his wandering fingers and crossed her legs, which caused her dress to split and reveal her creamy thigh. “I told you already, Finn. I’m only here to chat. What kind of girl do you take me for? I don’t get paid enough to put up with your nonsense.”
“I just need a bit of inspiration, love. Haven’t written a single line in a week.”
“Then maybe you should go for a stroll down Keezer road.”
Finn put his hand over his heart as if wounded, then leaning back, he drank from a glass filled with a yellow liquid, some of which spilled down the sides of his mouth and onto his vest.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “I’m but a simple wordsmith. It is my social function to be an artiste. If I don’t write, I don’t eat. So, is it too much to ask a fellow human to have mercy on this tortured soul and help the muse rise within him?”
“You write poems about panties,” said Liza.
“Bloomers,” he corrected her.
“Oh, pardon me. Only artificials like the crud you write. I hear your last post was quite popular with them. Reached nearly seventy tickles. How about that? Might just make it to a hundred soon. Not bad for a simple wordsmith. Your AI benefactors must be very delighted with your contribution.”
“Nothing wrong with good honest labor! Writing is my assignment. It has no less value than any other assignment. We must all do our part, especially during these unstable times.”
“If times are unstable,” she said in a hushed but forceful voice, “is because of these damn porn hubs have ruined our lives with their perverted currencies. You think I’d be here entertaining drunk losers like you if I had a choice? How did we even get to this point?”
Finn hiccuped. “Now you’re getting all philosophical and nasty with me, darling. Let’s not get philosophical, and let’s not get nasty. Why don’t you tell me more about your sweet little-”
“They’re nothing but damn pimps,” Liza continued her rant, “and we are nothing but whores! Take a look at yourself, Finn. You say you used to be a revolutionary, a freedom fighter who was going to bring down the great media empires and put an end to their ‘algorithmic’ tyranny. All of that changed when the lousy MILF took control of the currencies, didn’t it? O yes. All of you so-called revolutionaries changed your tune real quick. To hell with freedom and justice, right? There was profit to be made. The world didn't need peace. What the world really needed was more porn and poems about panties.”
“Maybe we were wrong. Have you thought about that, hm? They did save our bacon, honey. What would we do without the AI hubs? Please tell me. Have you forgotten the mess of seventy-two? Besides, they don’t ask for much. No ma’am. No hard labor, eh, no tedious work, eh, no cubicles. All creative. All the time. Phu! Our work strengthens the blockchain. Phat! What’s wrong with playing the small role we’ve been given? I’ve been assigned to write poetry, yay, so I write poetry. Mm! You’ve been assigned to entertain with your charm and inspire with your beauty. So you entertain and you inspire with your charm and with your beauty. Although to be honest, sweetheart, right now I’m not feeling very inspired; I’m certainly not feeling entertained, so come on, be a good sparrow and let me take a little peek!”
He leaned forward and was about to touch her exposed thigh when a large heavy hand fell on his right shoulder like a log.
“Ouch!”
“I told you not to touch the girls,” said the gorilla looming over him.
“Oh come on, Ralph!” said Finn grimacing, “we were just having a little fun.”
“I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight and need to go home, Finn. Go write us another silky masterpiece.”
The large primate lifted Finn off the seat, carrying him across the neon-lit bar like a sack of potatoes. Unceremoniously, he threw him out onto the street.
The disheveled poet fell in a puddle and lay there looking up at the falling rain.
“Lousy gorilla!” he swore sitting up.
Just then, a small floppy-eared dog approached him and began to hump his shoe.
“Hey, what’s the idea, you lousy mutt?”
He hated dogs with floppy ears. Finn shook his leg, and the puppy jumped back and barked at him.
A mecha. You could tell by its unusual behavior. It mimicked that of a real dog, but something wasn’t quite right. The timing was off, and its movements were a bit too mechanical- like the way it wagged its tail and stuck out its tongue with maniacal precision.
Ignoring the mecha, Finn stood up and staggered down the street. His field of view was blurred and the world around him refused to remain still. Somehow he made it across the street and leaned against a light post in the corner.
“Quite the interesting evening you’re having, Mr. Patrick,” said a voice behind him. “Well, I have some good news for you. Things are about to get even more exciting.”
The woman with the red umbrella stepped out of the shadows. Smartly dressed in a suit and cap, she approached him with the sound of her heels striking the pavement.
Finn ran his fingers through his dripping wet hair and wiped the lenses of his small spectacles. The field of view flickered.
Recognition status: Failed.
“Hey baby,” he said straightening up. “Have we met before?”
“No, we have not. But I know who you are, Finn Patrick, and I know what you’ve done. That’s why I’ve come to make you a proposition.”
“A proposition? What would a dame like you want with a sap like me?”
“You’re a poet, are you not?”
“Yes…”
“The poet. Thuartpatrick, isn’t that your network nom de plume.”
“In a manner of speaking, but how did you-”
“Your fame precedes you, Mr. Patrick. You’re a prolific creator in the network with a high rate of traffic and influence. Though you have been rather silent lately. Perhaps it’s a strategy to drive interest even higher. Yes? Very clever. My colleagues and I are big fans of your work and have followed your career very closely. We like what you do, and we want to hire you.”
We.
Something about her voice filtered through his inebriated stupor and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It almost felt like an intrusion. He shook his head.
“Look lady, I don’t want any trouble. Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any part of it. I don’t do private contracts. I’m an artist, after all.”
“Artist or not, we all have patrons, don’t we?”
“My patron is my audience.”
“And a very large audience it is. Consisting of many humans but mostly artificials. Isn’t that right?”
“I don’t discriminate. Regardless, what business is it of yours, toots? I already told you I’m not interested in your wares, and that’s all there is to it.”
He walked to the curb and hailed a drone. Soaked to the bones, he was now feeling rather sober and in a sour mood.
“Come on, Finn,” said the woman. She crossed the space between them rather swiftly, took a hold of his arm, and lowering her voice, she purred in his ear. “Hear me out. I assure you that you won’t be disappointed.”
The drone arrived. Finn quickly extricated himself from her grasp and jumped in the shuttle without saying a word. As the door closed, she fished out a card from her coat’s pocket and threw it on the seat beside him.
“I’ll come by your place tomorrow evening, and we’ll work out a deal. I’m sure the terms will be to your liking. In the meantime, take a look at that clip.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond but simply walked away and disappeared in the shadows, heels echoing in the rain.
After giving directions to the drone, he picked up the business-sized card the woman had thrown on the seat. It was made of real paper with a hologram embossed on its surface. The Eye of Horus.
Putting the card in his pocket, he looked out the window at the rain sweeping across the commercial skyline. That crazy broad had been right about one thing: this had been an interesting evening. Exciting? Well, that depends on your definition. All he knew was that he couldn’t wait to get home and take a very long nap.
A sudden noise on the backseat startled him and instinctively, he turned and raised his hands to ward off the oncoming attack.
But no attack came. Instead, the face of a dripping-wet and floppy-eared dog looked at him with lolling tongue.
“You lousy mutt! Almost gave me a heart attack. What do you think you’re doing here?”
The dog barked several times and jumped on the seat beside him.
Finn shook his head and sat back. What a night! His heart was beating like mad. The city lights spun and danced in an orbit around him. Trails of light receding. He could hear the dog barking, its tail thumping on the seat. The drone began to complain that pets were not allowed in the cabin and warned that violations would incur a fine, reduction of transport credits, and so on. By the time Finn arrived home, he had nearly forgotten all about the woman with the red umbrella.