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Marcello Sachs '10, English 65, The Cyborg Self, Brown University (Fall 2006)

Squeezing out of the garage, you make it out of the driveway and then onto the road. You try not to accelerate too quickly. Although the van is exquisitely adorned from front to back, it is completely retarded in terms of its actual functional capacity: driving. Besides, one has to be pretty careful on the roads of Boca Raton no matter what vehicle one is driving. With all the eighty-year old drivers unable to see over the steering wheel, one has to remain alert and on the defensive.

You safely make it to TJ's house. About 1 minute after you ring the doorbell, he opens the door. He's wearing his usual weekend uniform: long khaki shorts, a Timberland T-shirt, and flip-flops.

"How's it going, man?" he asks.

"Pretty well, pretty well."

As you step inside, you ask "Hey, did I leave my cell phone here?"

TJ responds "Ya dude, you did. It's on the kitchen counter. Oh crap!" His gaze shifts to something behind you.

"What?" you ask.

"The cat. The freakin' cat ran out the door."

Turning around, you notice the a brown and white striped tail disappear into some bushes.

"Wow, sorry man!" you exclaim.

"It's fine. I just need to catch this freakin' cat" he responds.

"Well, I'll help you; it shouldn't be too hard."

You both head outside, splitting up in order to cover more ground.

Last modified 31 December 2006