Chapter 17
It’s that feeling that everything is so good that you try to think back to earlier that day to where you missed something. Because you must have missed something for you to feel this good. I try to explain this stuff to Butler and get no reaction. It’s another thing I can’t articulate well.
Chapter 16
Everhet employed his swooping charisma to charm the director of the contemporary art museum downtown to let him use the main exhibit room for his newest installation.
Immediate upon getting our passes it began to feel like I was leading one of those required timeshare sales meetings during your vacation that you earned by sitting through the same meeting on your last vacation. It’s infinite loop logic.
Chapter 15
As he slides an espresso tonic to me, Everhet says he wants to show me how the new site works.
He used the money from Marcus to build it. Marcus is overtaking me in so many ways.
Chapter 14
One year later.
I’m still waiting to hear if our marriage is approved.
The way it works is the marriage certificate is ratified by the family “librarian” who is essentially the hand of Hans Arto. And through various conversations on the phone for the past 12 months, I’ve gathered she is sort of like a wicked stepmother figure.
Chapter 13
I can see my algorithm changing in ways I’m not totally comfortable with. And we can’t go back to where we control all the content. Which I know was Everhet’s plan all along, but it feels like all these contributions are poisoning the well.
Since last Thursday, users can upload their own content to the DPZ site; build playlists, add captions, and source their own advertisers. We even have a library with open-source music. It feels like a perk, but in reality, they’re paying for it; a percentage of user fees are used to pay record companies for the rights.
Chapter 12
I knock on the bright green door. It’s square on the bottom, round on the top. Grandma answers it with a squeal and a bear hug. She still stands a clear foot taller than me. I walk inside and I sit down at the kitchen table. She offers me tea and I accept because I like the way it tastes, and I was counting on her offering. It’s probably not a good idea. But I need some kind of stimulation going here.
Chapter 11
I wake up on the floor of Everhet’s kitchen and instantly bring my phone over my face.
I dreamt that I text Morgen a Homeric epic about how my parents were dead. How they exploded.
I look at my texts. Wasn’t a dream. Initiate shame blocking sequence.
Chapter 10
With my hands unrestrained I trace the names scratched in the black leather upholstery by former passenger’s fingernails.
The cop opens the door for me to get out.
He rolls down his window, I can’t see it, but I can hear it. My back to him, I hear him say, “Hey, kid—ub-uh— Mr. Defoe. You, uh. You sure you’re okay?”