"bud sparhawk - the suit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

she lived left me somewhat embarrassed, frustrated, and wondering if
suitware could be jailed for mismanagement of a personтАЩs files. I tried to
redial her number, but the suit had already deleted it, along with the
reminder about the damned milk. Wait a minute! DidnтАЩt she say we didnтАЩt
live that far apart? She had to be within walking distance. All I had to do was
wander around and hope she would spot me. What else could I do? Maybe
sheтАЩd call again, I hoped.

I pulled on a dumb pair of jeans with a decent communications link
and slipped on a pair of running shoes. YOU NEED TO RUN AT AEROBIC
SPEED FOR TWENTY-FOUR POINT FIVE MINUTES, the shoes said as
soon as I fastened them. YOU NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT.

Obviously it had been talking to the kitchen about my lunchtime
orange blossom salad containing excess calories. HadnтАЩt I burned enough
calories, despite eating the vegetarian medley, or did they just want a nice
run? Regardless of the reason, it was obvious that the household
conspiracy was growing and the other gadgets had recruited my running
shoes.

The shoes began playing the opening riff of JacksonтАЩs тАЬApple
Downbeat RagтАЭ as I headed out. PICK UP THE PACE it said every twenty
steps. PICK UP THE PACE. I ignored it as I set out on my search with her
shoebox under my arm.

****

The area where I live is pockmarked with redevelopmentsтАФindustrial
sites, shops, and storage buildings converted to apartments,
condominiums, and multifamily homes. The only way you could tell was that
most of the converted ones had awnings over the main doors. The
doormen all gazed suspiciously at me as I walked slowly past with uplifted
eyes, as if I were casing their posts. Their gazes grew steadily more
suspicious every time I passed. I ignored them and prayed that she would
spot me as I continued to jog along to alternate exhortations to PICK UP
THE PACE and bits of new jazz at an aerobic tempo.

After the third repetition of my circular trek I started to doubt that my
lovely redhead would be glancing out her window in anticipation of the
arriving pumps. What reason would she have? She probably thought that I,
like 99 percent of the population over five years of age, had captured her
address during our exchange, just as she had captured mine.

But I hadnтАЩt. I was the idiot who decided to wear unpatched suitware
and was now suffering for his sins. This wasnтАЩt going to work. There was no
chance that I would find her among the hundreds who occupied the densely
populated area. She would never get her shoes, miss her party tonight, and
probably hate me forever. Even if I eventually ran into her somewhere else
IтАЩd still be the jerk who ruined her evening by wearing unpatched suitware.