I pray to the patron Saint of Redirection, who shows up juggling sardines and a large red apple he takes a bite out of every revolution or so.

“This life,” I say. “The sheer weight of it…”

“Is that you?” he asks, letting the silvery circle collapse at his feet — slipping the apple in his pocket. He’s pointing to an old photo. “No, that’s my older brother, when we were kids. I’m the one…” I turn and see he’s now rowing across the living room in a small boat. “Calm seas,” he announces, skirting the TV. “I think it’s going to be a magnificent voyage.”

“Folkstone looks a lot less orange today,” says Denise. “So that’s the good news. The bad news is that he’s still not quite on message about the school funding thing. He told the Nurses Association that his plan would cut their property taxes by an average of 31%. But our data shows that 64% of nurses in our state rent rather than own their primary residences. And as you know …”

In the Ninth Ward of New New Orleans, the CEO of Atomitronics unleashed a flock of flamingobots. John LeChien, walking to work in the morning, heard them before he turned and saw them: a stiff-gaited pink horde clacking across the street and sidewalks.

He evaded the sharp beak of the first one and dropped to all fours to snap its plastic neck with his jaws. The beak of the second ripped his overalls to expose short blond fur. There were too many of them, rushing him from all directions. Tail between his legs, he dove between them and rolled, hearing the too-close thok-thok-thok of beaks striking the sidewalk.

“The Redcoats are coming! The Redcoats are coming!”

“What?” the newcomer asks. “The red what?”

“The Red Coats. You know, Redcoats — the British soldiers: the Regulars, the King’s Men, the Lobsters, the Bloody Backs, etc. etc. etc.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you yelling? Why are you trying to warn me about…the British, you said?” The newcomer pauses and kneads his hands. “I mean, they don’t seem that bad.” He does a quick scan of the area. “And I don’t think I see any here.”

Week 1 – The Matrix

One thing my EATR students have over the 19-year-olds I used to teach: attention span. I flipped the lights on after the movie and all 400 of them were alert, humming softly, their eyes glowing red with what I’m told is attention.

I began with what I thought was a softball question: “What did the robots do wrong in this film?”