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 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?”

Chapter 9

Under the surface of the dark water I feel milk cartons and leaves and trash bumping into my face. I slosh around in the sewage, an acidic green and black cocktail. The air, urine-heavy with the scent of cholesterol-soaked piss. 

I float on the surface of the garbage-infused water, looking up at the spotlight spewing from out the manhole I just fell through, with a Virgo full moon giving high energy vibes, as I float farther away.

Chapter 8

As if I’m being controlled remotely, I step out of the bar and into the street. Cool wind blows in my ear. Its frigid bite resets me, slightly.

I’m going to assume the worst is over and that whatever malfunction my intestinal tract was experiencing was due to ingesting whatever it was in that cocktail. But it seems to have passed now, and I feel good-n-pissed. Downfall is, my whiskyed dick don’t work but I still got energy.