The Bomb Lives Only As It Is

I Deliberately Keep Myself Apart From A Lot Of Stuff; I Don't Tweet, I Don't Do Facebook, I Don't Blog, And That's Largely Because I Spend My Working Life Staring At A Screen And Hitting A Keyboard, I Am Trying To Cut Down On That, Not Increase It.

I Just Come Up With The Stories And Write Them As Well As I Can. There's Not Really A Great Deal Of Strokey-beard Thinking Going On.

I'm A Devoted Husband. That Must Strike You As Totally Deviant.

I'm Too Drunk To Recall Much Of What I've Said. Which, Come To Think Of It, Is Probably Just As Well, Judging By The Way People Who Are Normally Quite Sensible Dissolve Into Gibbering, Rude, Opinionated And Bombastic Idiots Once The Alcohol Molecules In Their Bloom-stream Outnumber The Neutrons, Or Whatever. Luckily, One Only Notices This If One Stays Sober Oneself, So The Solution Is As Pleasant (at The Time, At Least) As It Is Obvious.

It Gripped Her Hand Gently. 'regret Is For Humans,' It Said. She Laughed. 'really?' The Machine Shrugged And Let Go Of Her Hand. 'oh, No. It's Just Something We Tell Ourselves.