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01:41 pm - 100 Words: Another Whine About the Revolution

Hotter every year. That's what they say. Our shovels bite into dry, hard ground again and again.



The supervisoid is coming up the line. We try to look like we’ve been working hard this whole time, but it can read body temperature fluctuation and the chemical content of our exhalation.



“No like assignment?” it buzzes. “Would like buy freedom? Easily done! Beam sixty-four bits of credstream and I let you go right now.”



We grumble. It laughs.



“Oh yes! Forgot: Meatsack no can beam. Meatsack no can connect market.”



Microwaves lash the water in our skin.



“Get back to work.”



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For consideration: "When was the last time you dug a ditch, baby?"