Mars Exit

I walked outside after a long night’s rest and discovered the corporate skyscraper across the street was transformed into a monk’s temple. There were several monks inside meditating and listening to calm music from a diminutive guitar of some sort. Not sure what religion. Didn’t want to find out. I have nothing against organized religion or asceticism for that matter; it just feels like a tough line to walk. What happened to the massive skyscraper, anyway? Was I still asleep? I started pinching myself on my forearm, then I started bleeding. I walked into the busy, musty liquor store and purchased a Band-Aid. It was no relief from the sudden rain. It made me want English Breakfast tea, though. I feel pretentious every time I order English Breakfast tea with the cute artsy barista who writes “great choice” on my cup of bitter tea. Should I ask her out? Will that offend her? I am like a 5-year-old Russian chess prodigy vs a highly sophisticated computer program: stalemate. My phone rings. I’m late for my meeting with a group of inquisitive Martians who are interviewing me for a prospective relocation to the Red Planet. Hello, I say. It’s an honor to speak with you all. I’m thinking of making the move…