Everyone In Silico | Page 9

long as Doug had been alive, and he had actually written an essay on it
for a class in corporate history. "Obviously, there was the practical consideration of the
costs involved in adding new slots for higher numbers," he had written with the
self-assurance native to cocky teens. "And there was also the zeitgeist of the '90s and '00s
to consider - a last-gasp reaction against the unlimited growth model. So McDonald's
upper echelons sat tight, knowing that their point had already been made - that everybody
loves their delicious flame-broiled burgers."

Standing in line, the greasy smell reminded him that they weren't flame-broiled at all. He
had lost marks for that, although he had gotten top marks for analysis - that's what
mattered, since he was sure (even then) that his future lay in coolhunting.
Doug thumbed a burger and fries, having to press the worn fries icon twice before it
registered. He pressed his watch against the payplate, held it there. It dinged its approval,
and the relief Doug felt at this was quickly followed by self-loathing. Worried about the
cost of lunch at Mickey Dee's...
The tray slid toward him. He picked it up and headed to an empty table surrounded by
other empty tables, as far away from the cluster of youngsters as he could get. A younger
Doug Patterson would have tried to get a little closer and eavesdrop on the conversation
and make mental notes of the slang, but Doug Patterson at 37 unwrapped his burger and
watched them with dull indifference fortified with caution.
"But the two lanes were merging, right. So-so-so, I was like," the kid took a toke, "Let's
go, shitarse. You wanted to race, so let's race." He had huge gaps between his teeth and
the full attention of his crew. "Onetwenty-oneforty-onesixty… the motherfucker didn't
stop, I'll give him that. Should have though. Ended up as the window display at Macy's.
Totalled." He toked and blew a smoke stream at his gun finger, listened to his crew make
impressed noises. "My Camaro had not a scratch."
One of the kids, a girl of about nine, screamed. Then, stopping entirely, pulling her knees
up to her chest: "Oh see, so-so-so, that's my bullshite alar-um."
"Verify. Fuck you little - go! Just go verify. Last night. Granville and 7th." The kid
crossed his arms, made cartoonishly big by his white puffy jacket, and jerked his chin.
"Fuckin' - go! Look stupid."
The little girl exaggeratedly spoke into her watch. "List fatalities -"
"Did I say he died?! No, I didn't…"
"Cancel. Did a car accident occur yesterday at Granville and 7th?"
The kid and the girl locked stares as they waited, eliciting hushed giggles from the others.
Finally the watch verified an accident. The kid spread his hands out, a gap-toothed smile
on his face. "An that's -"
"Cars involved with this crash?" the little girl continued, her face a curl-framed study in
innocent curiosity.
"Two cars, a Camaro Extremis and a Lightfoot, were towed from the site."
One kid covered his face in his hands, moaning, and the sounds of misery-induced
hilarity beat down the gap-toothed braggart.
"Stung," pronounced the little girl, a small hint of a smile on her lips.

"Who cares, I picked up that Camaro for like, a hundred fifty -" he started.
Singsong: "Stung."
"Ah, I'm makin' money all the time," the gap-toothed kid said, shoving himself upright,
moving towards the counter.
"How much of the tow charges have been paid off?" the little girl asked her watch as he
moved away.
"Zero dollars." Hilarity. "Accruing 13% interest per annum."
One of the kids stood up and called, "Yo, Zero! Get me a burger motherfucker!" Then he
seemed to notice Doug. "So-so-so, chicken hawk. You like this?" He motioned to the
six-pack of abs on his prepubescent body, visible through a sheer t-shirt.
Doug shook his head and looked away, finishing off his burger and starting on his fries.
He emptied the packet on the tray and doused them liberally with ketchup, focusing on
the motions, willing their attention away from him as an escaping convict wills away a
searchlight on the yard.
Doug lifted large handfuls of fries to his mouth in an effort to inconspicuously eat more
quickly. He could only swallow the potato derivative so fast, however, and he looked up
to see the gap-toothed kid veering towards him on his way back from the counter.
"So-so-so," the kid said, getting out a pack of tokes and sliding in beside him. He sparked
up and gave Doug the once-over, pausing at his expansive bald pate. Doug realized that
what he'd thought were gaps were teeth tattooed black. "How you doin', guy?"
"I'm fine." Doug raised his eyes to the kid's, but the kid was already glancing