he is a boy with the backpack and the green shirt and the kind of face that knows it is not done yet the kind of boy who walks like he’s still logging in who blinks like windows loading

he likes to look at books and he likes to close them before the ending not because he is bored but because he wants to finish the story later in his own way

he draws on his pants with pens he finds and sometimes the ink runs and sometimes it doesn’t and either way he says that’s what thinking looks like

once he tried to print a zine with his friend and the printer jammed and they said maybe that’s the end maybe that’s the point { the zine was called why do birds do that? and they sold two copies to themselves and stapled the rest to poles on the way home

his glasses are taped and the tape is not sad the tape is history the tape says this boy has lived through several versions of seeing

he is standing but almost floating the floor doesn’t mind the floor has seen weirder things the room is not judging it’s full of machines with their own glitches

on his shirt there are pixels and maybe a stain from soda or from thinking too hard and forgetting he was holding a snack

he listens to music through speakers not headphones because he likes when people ask what he’s playing so he can lie and make up band names

he is not alone not really he has the room and the cords and the flyers and the doodles on the wall he has you now reading still here

stablediffusion, cellularautomata, python

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