Time spent waiting for the robot’s ultimate decision as to whether or not it would execute an… ‘execute’ order, burned along with slow trepidation. The long, compound seconds licked at Roy with in sticky, sweeping swaths; much the same figurative way flames from a synthetic, balled up, hemp-woven kitchen rag, slathered in a homemade, petroleum distillate based medium with a particularly high flash point and pomade-esque consistency had –in a quite literal way– some years before, as the robot’s attempted to correlate a rudimentary period of instruction pertaining to the myriad of ‘opportunistic’ tools in the ‘a-typical’ domestic terrorist’s handbag before ultimately starting a multi-fanged grease fire the machine would henceforth ‘naturally’ attribute to Roy; on acc...

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