3
aii was the only place that offered it. Everywhere else was too political. Fed sighed and finished socketing his legs on before shuffling down the hall.
"There we go. Like a family" Bark'd said, as though it held some meaning or weight which might translate across the tautological divide between them. Fed stood in the doorway, the kitchen's grease-stained wallpaper rendered in clean RGB scan lines on the inside of his goggles, his chording keyboard clenched tightly in his right hand.
Bark slapped a meaty paw against the sole empty chair. "C'mon, it'll be fun! Your Mom even fried 'em on the George Forman. And I have a new mesquite margerine spray - got it promo from work today. You'll love it." Bark worked as a distributer and "display maximization consultant" for Easy-Pick, the line of closet-sized convenience stores painted into corners of gas stations and confectionary shops.
Fed sat down at the table and flipped one goggle cup over his eyebrow, his other hand keying in the combination for single-handed chording.
"No computers, Fed" his Mom said. "How about we just enjoy each others' company?"
Fed's jawbone tightened, slowly recognizing the signs that Mom's antidepressants were hitting the half-life wall and that another round of emotional trauma was coming due. "Enjoying each other's company" was practically a code word for months of repressed guilt and anxiety sloshing heavily against the floodgates, held back by carefully-wrought "producivity" subliminals at work and the crufty remains of his mother's neuro-reuptake inhibitors. Fed flicked back the other cup of his goggles and let the scattered light show flicker out and across their faces, tiny glimmers of blue and red and green laser light pulsing softly against their cheeks as it tried to resolve on a cornea, any cornea. He keyed in a locking sequence and pocketed the chord, bending over the soy patty to industrially cut it into easily-stackable bite-sized chunks.
"My muscleman loves this shit" Bark said "Gave me