The Cats Vendor

Donchu

The machine would only trust him if he was no danger to himself but most importantly no danger to others. At level eight induced vexation under the specific task scenarios rated highly antagonistic by the New World Authority, Chadwick's pre-interview psych scores deemed him on par. Chadwick's parallel soc-med profile correlated with tracked user submitted data and time allocation ratios for this most recent quarter. They were those of a balanced, progressive individual. Human.ly wouldn't have let him through the door otherwise.

Sitting in the cockpit of his currently land-bound vehicle the brilliance of the morning light gnawed at Chadwick Skillington-Smythes woozy head. 

He twirled his finger through the holographic display. Chadwick acknowledged the hourly bounties, merit announcements and redundant weather forecast. All part of the standard pre-launch sequence. 

So far, so good.

"Good morning FreeChad38. What is human.ly possible today?," came the familiar greeting from the console. 

This was no ordinary vehicle. The unbounded user configurations available to the Easy Rider Transit permitted reupholstery in synthetic fabric, pseudo ceramics or bio-hide. Everything from the internal ambience scheme through to manual handling response and window tint could be reconfigured inline with a passengers requirements using only basic 4D sintering or an ERTs adaptive clone graph.

Chadwick was starting a new job. When confirmation of freelancer status arrived from Human.ly, included was the Auto-GED file necessary to construct the ERT. Chadwick smiled, remembering the first configuration his housemates encouraged him to submit for propagation. A thirty door, two storey pink Cadillac, encrusted with fist sized diamonds, a functional sauna and a 'tine hotbox base point. Advances beyond 3D printing and the use of enhanced polymers and other materials such as zero dimensional inks, allowed vehicles, and even buildings to be reconfigured at a touch. If that was so easy, why can't I turn off the dispatcher or save my music preferences? He pondered.

Flipping through eleven jazz-casts and ninety eight electro skiffle stations, Chadwick settles on the history channel. Harmonicas telegraph the melody and the primitive yodel begins.

"Dontcha know what you're doing?", are the first words Chadwick hears this morning.

"Yes mate. Harmonicas," he says to himself.

With an invigorating shudder the ERT begins to ascend. Chadwick taps along to the bombastic intro overlaid by shimmering onanist guitar activity. By the time Michael Hutchence can whisper 'suicide blonde' Chadwick is two thousand meters above the leafy suburb of Lubumbashi.

"She knew of the finish before it began," continues the song.

Anointing himself with syntholyptus and no longer clad in his oversized fisherman's smock and basic blue, striped yoga pants, Chadwick raises his arms and offers praise. Sensing a routine act of spiritually, the ERT cloud module disengages its proxy mono-filter. All opaque surfaces are now translucent. Pearling over a glitched magic carpet, Chadwick performs his scared morning ritual. Simultaneously five million individuals offer tribute to neo-deities founded upon recovered html and echoing AM radio fragments.

He chants along with the music.

White light everywhere

Glory to you

Glory take me there

Given everything inside and out

Hey hey hey hey

Wooooooooooooo

Donch'chu forgot about me

Don don don don