The Selfie

A dream in illustrated form.

"Take a selfie with me,” she says. She’s all machines and flesh and I don’t care, because we must be in love.

"Step to the edge,” she asks me, and I do. We stand at the top of a classy hotel, made of adobe and wood.

The moon spins wildly, and she laughs. I just want to play the video games of my youth. This isn’t love, I think. I’m probably right.

She laughs again, and I’m swept away in it.