Posthuman Blues

I was sitting in front of 47th Street watching motorcycles go by, nursing a coffee and trying to ignore my still-sore back when I suddenly found myself staring into the pastel-and-neon maw of The Sharper Image one block over. (The weather is beautiful today, hence the open doors.)

Inspiration struck. I sauntered inside doing my "I'm a customer" act and collapsed into one of the robotic massage recliners. Heavenly. I tested out "PERCUSSION." Not bad. I sampled a few minutes of "KNEAD," briefly transported by mechanical fists and tireless, disembodied fingers.

Not wanting to overstay my welcome (as good as it is, my "serious customer" act dissolves pretty quickly once I'm comfortably seated, staring at the ceiling like a happy corpse), I feigned interest in portable DVD players until an employee winked the store's lights, signaling that my relaxation session was at an end. Otherwise, I might still be there.