Journal of First Dates: Entry 190303
The light always falls on his face
at a 135 degree angle.
From a shaving cut on his cheekbone
a digital stream flows.
When you look into his eyes
the pixelated pupils upload
your avatar to his chat server,
which returns responses so human,
you buy him a beer.
It makes him gassy.
The farts come out in cubes
and clatter like dice.
You know he knows without looking
what they add up to
and will remember the sum tomorrow.
-- Thomas Gorn