“What the hell are you doing?” I asked him.
“Interfacing,” he said.
“With your shirt?”
“This shirt is a microfiber weave quantum computer,” he replied as he kept tapping imaginary keys on the side of his stomach. “All my garments are computers. So is everything in this room.”
I thought about it a minute and then asked him, “Even your underwear?”
“Yes.”
“But why would you ever need computerized underwear??”
He stopped tapping and put two fingers to his chest. “Oracle, modify underwear, loosen crotch by 6.8 cubic centimeters.”
For a moment he stood attentively and then suddenly he relaxed and went back to his tapping on his stomach again.
“It was getting sort of sweaty in there,” he said with a smirk.
© 2023 Randy Bone
