fiction and musings from a gay black dude with delusions above his station
October 17, 1989. Around 5:02 pm or so, I left my office, old room 349 Boalt Hall at UC Berkeley. I wound through the narrow catacombs that made up the third floor at that time, skipped down the stairs and exited the building via a backdoor between the second and third floors. The door exited…
Wednesday, May 25, 2157 I got up early that morning, went to the kitchen and had a small bowl of fruit. I ate alone. I remember thinking that it was the first time I ate alone since getting there. The thought did not linger. I switched to thinking about my library and all the books…
Friday, May 20, 2157 Walter and I took the long elevator ride back to the surface. His electric car sat exactly where he left it, fully charged now, good to go. That’s when I broke the silence: Take me home. He asked, why. I said, I don’t want to be any part of this. He…
(Editor’s note: Find previous installments here.) Sunday, March 20, 2157 We had to take the car to our next adventure. It has a three-hundred mile range, he said, though he rarely went farther than about 100 miles. Our destination was barely 10 miles. Still, it felt good to be out. Views of the Bay Area…
Thursday, March 17, 2157 So what sent me over the edge over a week ago? I have it on my lap: a book called Titans. That Saturday I remember getting up early and going outside for a walk. It was already hot, so I didn’t stay outside for long. I’ve spent so little time outside…
Friday, March 11, 2157 Walter is so wonderful. Most of my life, the people I’ve encountered don’t give a damn about anything but their immediate existence. They have no time for anything else, especially other people’s complex emotions. I’ve lived most of my life, most of my adult life, among this class, 22nd century hunter-gatherers….
Saturday, March 5, 2157 The voices returned, violently. So violent came their onslaught that I blacked out and am just coming to. Whatever it was Walter wanted to show me, it hasn’t happen yet. I’m back in the bed again with bloodstained bandages on my head. It’s too hard to write, physically and mentally, too…
[Editor’s note: For earlier installments of this series, click here.] Friday, March 4, 2157 What an extraordinary few days it has been. His name is Walter. He alone takes care of the desalination station. Techs come out twice a year, he says, to service various systems that he cannot take care of by himself. Otherwise…
Monday, February 27, 2157 I found myself in a bed. It has a white frame with arching head- and footboards made of metal. The sheets are clean and the mattress is comfortable. It looks like one of those hospital beds you see in old World War II movies, but this bed looks too new to…
Friday, February 24, 2157 Destitute was one of those words my great-granddad did not believe in. Whenever he heard that a group of people were destitute, the first thing he would ask was, Well, do they have a television? A car? A dishwasher? If they do, then they don’t sound ‘destitute’ to me! If pushed…
