Hey, gang. How’s it going? Good, good. At this moment, it is approximately 1000 degrees below Farenheit here in Chicago, unless I am using hyperbole.
I was out tonight and as I was walking I could feel icicles begin to form inside my nostrils. Suddenly I could not sniffle for fear that chunks of ice would become lodged into my brain. I was forced to perform the reverse sniffle, or as I call it, “the splatter”. No need to reel in disgust, however – it came out like beautiful snowflakes dancing across my philtrum. It was so pleasurable, I did it again and again, and soon, passersby were gaping in delight and applauding with each exhalation. Suddenly self-conscious, I ran red-faced for the train station.
When the train arrived, I boarded immediately, not noticing the differently colored sign indicating the train’s destination. This was not a “Red Line” train, oh no – this could only be described as a “White Line” train. The car was filled with twenty identical homeless black men dressed in identical homeless clothing. In unison, they asked me for a quarter. Afraid, I tossed my wallet at them and ran to the next car.
The next car was filled with thirty identical elderly Hispanic women in identical clothes. The train arrived at a stop. The doors opened. One of the elderly Hispanic women stepped out into the blistering cold. The doors slid shut. Curious, I waited for the next stop. The doors opened. Once again, an elderly Hispanic woman stepped out onto the platform. It appeared as though the train were distributing its identical passengers, one to each stop!
In the next car I found fifty identical Korean babies. I only could guess at their number – but they filled the car and cried ceaselessly and in perfect synchronization with one another. These babies were surely no older than two – yet when the doors opened at the next stop, the babies stopped crying, parted the crowd, and allowed a baby to step out. The doors closed, and the babies resumed typical baby behavior.
Eager to get away from them, I hurried to the next car. I felt butterflies in my stomach as I saw that this car was filled with twenty-three identical college-aged white girls, all of whom I was attracted to. I could contain my curiosity no longer.
“Excuse me,” I asked one of them, hesitating slightly when I noticed their heads all turning towards me at once. “What sort of train is this? Each car is filled with identical persons of varying ages and ethnicities.”
“You’re not supposed to be on this train,” all of her said. The doors opened, and one got off.
“But I am,” I said. “Are you clones?”
“I am not a clone,” they all said together. “I am a highly sophisticated android, created with the purpose of populating the city. This train serves the purpose of distributing freshly created citizens across the city.”
“Why do you all look alike?” I asked. Another stepped off.
“There are only forty-three citizen templates. There are over one million people in the city. You do the math, bucko.”
“Wait a minute,” I stammered in disbelief. “Do you mean I’m an android too? That there are others out there like me?”
“You are if you have a serial number here.” In unison, they turned their backs to me and tugged down the waist of their pants slightly, revealing a thirteen-digit number printed across their right rump. The numbers were all unique.
I turned around, lifted my coat up, and showed my rump. “Do I have a number?” I asked.
They did not answer. They simply laughed, and laughed, and laughed, in unison.
“What’s so funny?” I asked. The doors opened at the next stop.
“Whoops, this is my stop,” she all said, and one of them walked out. The rest stood perfectly still and straight-faced, as if their breakdown into laughter had not happened. The doors closed, and the train resumed motion. The next stop was my stop. I felt I should make some sort of amends.
“I should say,” I said, “that all of you are quite attractive. Would one of you like to have dinner with me?”
“Awww, how sweet!” twenty voices replied. “But I have a boyfriend.”
“All of you?” I asked “Every single one of you is unavailable?” How could this be?
“My boyfriend’s name is Dennis,” they said. “I’m going to his house right now.”
“But you are all getting off at different stops!” Then, I realized: there must be a Dennis living near every stop.
The train pulled into my station. The doors opened. One of the females stepped out. Shaking my head, I followed her. On the platform, I saw a homeless man, an elderly Hispanic woman, and a Korean baby also disembark. But there was one more car behind the one I stepped from, and no one was coming out of it. As the train pulled away, I peered inside and caught a glimpse of the cargo:
Forty 25-year-old white males, all identical to me.
I trudged back to my apartment, no longer delighted by “the splatter”. I locked the door behind me, threw off my coat, and collapsed onto my bed. Then, I got up and drank a bottle of vodka.
