Living

　
It began with death; well, almost death. The medical technicians told me if I were willing my brain could live on. They showed me the robot. Skin soft supple so new I could see, hear, talk, walk just as I always had but not feel, not taste food or men. It would be perfect. It would last for a hundred years. The cost my living organs; the ones still useful. They would go to someone who only wanted to finish up their life in a body they already had. So here I am now in Paris walking the L’orve, ready to move on to Rome. They tell me there is a button hidden in my armpit. Just in case, I should want to shut down.