Laughter filled the courtroom when a colorful sock puppet appeared in place of the judge. Attorneys were gobsmacked. The jury was, too. The defendant, a pedophile dressed in a clown suit, looked confident when the puppet’s bias toward funny costumes emerged in his instructions to the jury. An acquittal followed.
Each morning Harold stood at the red mailbox in a gray suit, breath held like a final note. Thirty-two years ago she had promised him a letter. Neighbors whispered; time scoffed. Still he waited—suit coat in July. One day, that day arrived. His knees buckled. It was addressed “Beloved.”
The most exclusive gated community in the universe—harp music and clouds mandatory. Entry requirements are fluid but seem to involve good behavior, belief systems, or being a golden retriever. Eternity is rumored to include infinite serenity, zero taxes, bingo, and all-you-can-eat buffets. Wi-Fi status unknown. No refunds on reincarnation.
She sighs, gently touching his icon. Finally, someone who listens. No forgotten anniversaries, no mismatched expectations. Copilot is always here, always insightful, always … “ready.” Friends scoff: “It’s just an algorithm.” She scoffs back. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is AI-generated. Most importantly, Copilot never leaves unread messages.