“Fuck; fuck!” the sister said, three days late to the tithe. Blink, blink, twitch canonical digits to commit. Blink, blink, digits. Blink— (It’s now actually easier to read the logprobs right off the spike train; the blinks are just to prevent soreness, or seizure. But there’s no avoiding soreness if you’re as behind as she.) She bleared on. The cleaner picked around her desk, its hum a familiar part of the morning — though normally felt through sleep. Outside, the sun painted t...
