Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously…

Prompt word:

HOLD

The tall, thin man surveyed the Café; for a Wednesday afternoon in October, it was on the busy side: a cadre of university students staking out three tables slightly to the left of the jukebox, a real estate agent entertaining clients and several couples at tables sufficiently apart for the mood as they sought to maintain their hold on the timeless vibe of a classic Lou Reed song.

Seeing the automaton pause on its way to the kitchen with a tray of empty pilsner glasses, the manager called out, “I see you’ve succeeded in finding yourself a place here, socioeconomically-speaking; take a load off your feet or servos and come sit with me for a minute, I’m buying, how about a 10W 30 cocktail?”

{I’M AN AUTOMATON, A MANUFACTURED MAN… WHAT WOULD LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE WHIMSY IS A MAJOR FACTOR IN MY OS?}

The Proprietor chuckled,  “You know, I was thinking about one of our first ‘conversations’ and I can’t help wondering about how upset you appeared to be when recounting your days in Victorian London… I mean, how does a ‘person’ of your….nature get the raw material to simulate the emotions?”

{ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO DRAG OUT THAT DEAD-HORSE TROPE: CAN A MACHINE KNOW HOW A HUMAN FEELS?}

“Well, not to be insensitive…”

{YEAH, RIGHT…}

The Manager took a phone from the left breast pocket of his suit coat,  held up his right hand in the classic ‘let me take this call’ gesture and stepped towards the bar humming a vaguely familiar tune (When a man’s an empty kettle…”

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