// Mark had told us without
any stress that it
was what he wanted
to do. We'd thought
he wanted government
work. “Not anymore.
It’s a postsalary world.
Posthuman, kind of.”
34 lines later,
the conversation was
over.

// Roger and I'd went into the
auxiliary backyard,
with the holographic panda,
Mark’s elementary school
playmate. We switched
it on, and it was
real. It had fur and large eyes.
Roger'd hoped Mark
was with the panda, somewhere else,
but I told him
that was ridiculous.

// My son became a
website effective
yesterday without our
consent since he was
18 and could decide
these things now.
A new search engine.
I supposed that was
fine, and his father supposed
too. It was no surprise: We
raised him through an EMP
conflict in the Southwest; he
loved wearing his audio suit
at five years old; he
took a semester in Piet
at seven, in the state directive.
I’m not even sure how many
languages he'd known before.
Now we have his ashes
in a silicon jar.

// There's a wall device
that lets you download
web apps for your
home. markmywords.com
had a sale today. I'd purchased
my son, which came up
on the living room projector.
Roger was in
the auxiliary backyard
with the panda.
I looked at my son,
which was a cartoon.
"What would you like to
know?" it asked me.