A man who had known me for a long time said encouragingly once, “At fifty if you keep fit, a few women will surely be yours.”
He was driving. I don’t drive. I waited, beside him, pretending glee. While my eyes were on the windscreen watching a cow licking a wounded bull on the road. Who knew whom she belonged to.
The man shifted the soliloquy to self-driving cars. Two thousand twenty five was not far away. Robots would take our jobs. AI would write poems. The money would be hummed out of a million servers.
The feminists would destroy families. The surly sisters would take the children away and cook them kale breakfast. Men would forget their place. Love would be disastrous for personal ego, et cetera.
“Only cows’, he said,
‘only cows, if free, if they so would desire, would unflinchingly adore the bulls in the hum of sweltering asphalt streets. And, it would be a sight of hope.”
No comments:
Post a Comment