“Dude?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we move ta, like, Cleveland?”
“In November? That’s a dumb place ta go, dude.”
“Precisely.”
“Whut?”
“Didn’t’cha hear? Peep’s’re callin’ Seattle tha smartest city in North America. An’ it’s creepin’ me out!”
“You been into tha mushrooms again? Wit’out tellin’ me?”
“Jeez, dude! What’s that in yer hand?”
“My cell, dude. As if ya ain’t seen it a million times taday already. What about it?”
“Yeah, dude. Yer cell, also known as yer smart phone. Which they call it that fer why?”
“‘Cause it, like, does stuff fer ya?”
“Right. So what tha hell’s a smart city, then? If’n I go to cross tha street when tha light sez “Don’t Walk”, is tha lightpole gonna grab me an’ drag me back ta tha sidewalk? If’n I go ta scrape my shoes at the front door, is tha doormat gonna tell me where I’ve been and demand ta know what I was doin’ there? If’n I go to tha store an’ buy beer an’ chips, is tha cart gonna dump that stuff out an’ make me get spinach an’ avocados instead? I tell ya, dude, I don’t like this ‘smart city’ idea. An’ I don’t like tha way that window is lookin’ at me.”
“Aw, c’mon, dude. It’s probably got a bug innit.”
“‘Xactly!! How many times yer phone’s autocorrect sent yer mother cameltoe when ya meant ta write Camelot in yer text message, huh? How many times them windows mistook some dude fer some other dude an’ sent tha robocops after ’em? I wanna be someplace where a window’s just a window!”
“An’ not a gate?”
“Is he behind all this?”
“Windows Hate, dude.”
“Which is ‘xactly why I wanna move to a place where the windows ‘re just dumb, and ain’t … Hey!!”