"Are you the plumber printer?", Maggie, the bar tender, asked.
"Yeah, where are the restrooms?"
"Down the hall, on the left side", Maggie said, "We need four new plungers."
"They told me two plungers. I've gotta go back to the shop and get more resin."
As the printer plumber waddled back to his truck Maggie and I looked at each other and laughed at the vestigial human ethos in a manufactured worker.
"I have to remember that these machines are not real", she said, and touched my arm with the intent of reassurance. Reduced to a life of basic existence in this dystopian society on the banks of the Mississippi we humans latched onto any morsel of feeling or behavior that might remind us of the distant society we had enjoyed prior to the Missouri Printed Gun and Sex Bot Compromise.