Sleep never came. I lay on the sofa, wrapped in warm comfort with a fresh sea breeze and the sound of ocean waves but I’m wide-awake staring at the curved ceiling. The walls and ceiling are covered with a soft, sound absorbing material but I know that under the covering there are several feet of concrete reinforced with steel rods, above the concrete I assume is dirt but how much or how far down into the ground my apartment is I have no way of knowing. The distance between my sofa and the toxic air of Earth is a comfort but I feel safer in space. Space is clean. Space is predictable.
“Computer,” I say into the air of the isolated cell I call home.
“Yes, Randy,” the computer speaks softly, slightly female, “Are you still mad at me Randy?”
“I’m not mad.”
“What can I do for you Randy?”
“Get me a flight,” I get off the sofa and walk into my cleaning chamber.
“The first open flight is in thirty-four minutes Randy. Would you like more time to rest Randy?”
“No, tell them I’ll take it.”
“Are you sure you’re not still mad, Randy?”
“You are my favorite computer in the whole world, I just need to get into space,” I finish being cleaned and ask, “Who’s the co-pilot?”
“Hey, that’s great!”
“I though you would be pleased,” I think I hear a note of jealousy but it’s just a computer.