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Senji

“One washer of clean dishes,” Hawthorne says, “and one always dirty! A buffer system! No more piles in the sink, no more damn cabinets!”

“Some people like cabinets,” Senji says.

“Some people like this!” screams Hawthorne, and thumbs EJCT.

Acceleration pins Senji’s head down. The air’s cold; his eyes water. His chute deploys just in time to swing him crashing through French doors.

“You poor man!” says the father at the table.

“Let’s get those cuts cleaned!” says the mother. “You’ll be fine.”

“Then we can play games!” says a child excitedly.

He was right! is all Senji, astounded, can think.

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