adapted for/featured in book #34
There's nothing quite like an air-conditioned room. The violence of it feels like a car crash, but only the impact and none of the aftermath. Getting hit square in the jaw with every tick between the seconds by a balled-up alien orb, not quite a fist, slung whimsically from a cord at the center of another slightly larger orb, reminding you of the decay outside the hum and the meaninglessness of existence, is never unwelcome.
_ [un-licensed] microfiction by Unknown
