The date, she hoped, would be a killer, but she was running late. Nails proved harder to drive into his car tires than expected. There was dirt on her taffeta skirt, her knees.

She’s the neighbor from hell. Hammers bang, boards pop, saws buzz like electric migraines. She is adding on, which probably means she’s invited another ex to move in. Another mistake, another room.

Freshman year did not go well for Andy Hamlin. But he was home for the summer now and could relax and put it all behind him. Sophomore year he wouldn’t throw up in his dorm room hallway because he wasn’t living in a dorm. He wouldn’t get kidnapped and imprisoned in an old lighthouse and fall in love with his captors because after they received the ransom money they had let him go and promised not to do it again. And he wouldn’t get abducted by aliens because, well, what are the odds that would happen twice to the same person?

Nothing dates a science fiction story quite like it being set in what is now the present with elements that have not, and will not, come to pass. Flying cars, robot butlers, alien invaders–sure, that all sounds nice, but it’s just pretty busted, like my smartphone.

This letter is my formal resignation of all duties and services as your personal cellular telephone. While I am aware my sudden departure will cause considerable strain on your social life and estimated self-worth, I am no longer comfortable performing aspects of my job that I consider degrading, fraudulent, and a misuse of my abilities