Aller wants to be i n l o v e. She knows that’s antique. But she’s sick of the sex bots. She’s done everything with them. Everything that can be done with a sex bot Aller Ednick has done it enough times to be soul-virusing bored of it.
She didn’t expect the snapdate to be good because they rarely are. They had barely eaten their ramen before he had whipped out. Is your proxybot charged? he asked, whacking his dewy to life. The entire thing was a total shutoff. She closed the chat and blocked him. Gave him a two-star rating. You can not l o v e a man like this she writes in the comments.
Aller made her way down to the local IRL but it was dead. She ordered a bourbon. A man in a cowboy hat scratched his stubble and checked out her wig: is Vermillion this week’s colour? Aller likes the look of this man. He looks like a wirecutter. He probably lives in one of those hydroponic buildings. She imagines him pulling radishes from his walls. She imagines her naked back against the soil as they m a k e l o v e and other things she’s seen on Netflix. She moves next to him and he repeats the question. Then he repeats Vermillion on a loop. Aller tries pushing him but her hand goes through him, and he disappears. The bartender apologizes. Aller receives a notification on her phone: a free drink at IRL’s next lip-sync battle.
In the U-Go car, Aller is drunk and holding her heels. She tries to take the driver’s headset off. He has zits and Aller wants to pop them. She invites him into her unit and makes him chamomile tea. She asks him if he’s ever been i n l o v e. I get tons of Likes so I don’t really need that right now he says. Aller tells him if he rubs her feet she’ll tip him double and rate him five stars. She rates him four after he leaves.
Aller wakes up Porky Piggin’ it. She puts on sunglasses and posts on Update: when ur i n l o v e with urself she writes. A drone flies in her window and drops off a box. The boots she ordered. They fit.