you're the man now dog

When I walk into a room every women present is simultaneously both disgusted and aroused.

Blair, he's one of the smartest cunts I know. He's climbing up the verge, he's hugging real tightly to the tangential curb of genius. The guy is building his own electron microscope for chrissakes. Smart as fuck, keen as a razor blade and very sharp too. We get along, he got me this job. So we was crawling round the local bars, drinking, reckless and irresponsible, living the rough and tumble life of embedded firmware engineers. Ok, so it might be a Wednesday, but we are computer programmers and we don't have to live by the ordinary rules and regulations of civilised society. We speak in magic spells. Our sign language leaves it's grubby finger stains on the sky, our breath it blacken the atmosphere. I'm completely serious, I smear my crumbly charcoal across the face of the sun and call it code. So we was discussing women, various tips and tricks and strategies, as guys do. You know.

I don't know. The subject for me is like a one legged millipede, it always veers in these tight little circles. I only like to dine from the “eat least” peak of the food pyramid. As it happens we are in this bar called “Winners”. Only the most hopeless optimistic idiot or brutally ironic satirist could have possibly come up with this name. Winners is quite possibly the most depressing bar I have ever been in. It's tiny. There is no beer on tap but what is available is cheap, three dollars a bottle. The place basically exists as a life support system for the poker machines and has all the ambience of a plastic bag. It's nearly empty except for a few degenerate gamblers and us.

The conversation stumbles forward, it meanders like a Parkinsons hand shake. Sitting in a bar called “Winners” at one in the morning, drinking, obscured half blind by viscous clouds of hope and desperation, choking on it, discussing the mystery of mysteries, that ever puzzling puzzle box, the troubling rubix cube I only ever seem to solve by accident.

Winners. They don't make androids like us any more.