18- Creative Outlet
It was a Saturday Morning. Radio had overslept. Sammy logged into her master's Spotify playlist, cranked up her volume and played the heaviest track she could think of. "Screwdriver" by an industrial metal band called Human Chop Shop.
The entire house woke up.
"Uh, sorry for the late broadcast," Radio announced. "But the sound of construction equipment is a welcome reminder of our daily life."
Sammy paused. "Just because it's called Industrial does not mean it deals with industry."
"Anyway, Robert McGroarty Jr. is expecting a package today.
Robbie carried the box in and set it on the couch. "Dad, it took me forever to find someone to fix up Mom's old TRS-80 computer. The guy said over E-mail that it now works."
Plugsy peeked around the corner. "TRS-80," he thought. "Do I know a TRS-80?"
Ongaku-san whispered in his ear. "Our old friend from the apartment? Digit."
Robbie ended the conversation soon after and opened it. Sure enough, Digit was inside.
Lampy was the first to greet Digit. "How have you been?"
The old computer laughed. "It's been quite... liberating to not be on the cutting edge anymore." He glanced at Robbie through the window. "Someone loves me for who I am and not any bells or whistles."
He hopped over to Sammy and looked at her screen. "Wait, who's this Human Chop Shop band?"
A handful of appliances gathered around a small laptop.
"Fantine," a tall, skinny lamp asked. "As your former colleague decades earlier, what's with the morbid poetry?"
Fantine, a small blue fan, just stared at him. "Six months earlier I had to go to the shop for a tune-up. Igor and I had a pleasant conversation. I told him that I still had nightmares about what happened to us. He suggested a creative outlet." She pointed to a Word Document on the laptop. "I let Cassius, Batter, and Cornelia have input."
Asimov scratched his chin with his plug. "And, does Master know you've written all of his songs?"
Fantine smiled. "Oh, no. I told him, through text, that I want to stay anonymous."
The laptop shuddered. "Are any of you guys going to finish this song?"
Asimov looked over. "May I make a few corrections?" He used his plug to hit the backspace and typed something in.