Everything I’m going to do I’ve done already. Everything I haven’t finished I hadn’t started to begin with. It's just how things are.

I have a dogbot named Strange Dew.

I made coffee while I was walking Strange Dew, while I sipped coffee that I’d made yesterday in the moment where my dogbot pissed butane at my leg and onto my Big Toe. I jumped away from it, annoyed, as I simultaneously slumped on the couch.

“You are BAD! BAD-BAD-GOOD BOY! GOOOOD BOOOY!”

This is what I screamed at my synthetic pet for after it piddled all over my foot; my Big Toe.  Conveniently, for me, I was taking a shower in that same moment, so I wasn’t too upset, even though I absolutely was.

Regardless of what Strange Dew squirted onto my low-limbs, I was completely happy with myself, albeit totally fucking miserable.

Strange Dew was clean-shaven with a long beard, and people on the grassy bio-block would always notice this. They’d shout things like “Hey! Look at that smooth-faced dogbot with the long black and/or white beard that hangs down and drags across the muddy, sticky-dry pavement as he/she scuttles quickly at a slow pace!”

Keep it to yourself. Yep. That’s what I’d always scream under my breath. Keep it to yourself.

Strange Dew was also named Conventional Dry Particle. I (or You, depending on where we’re standing) were on our way to the local dogbot factory, which also functioned as the International Morgue for Dogbots. There's always something here, but not much goes on, usually.

I’m serious!

It was raining inside, cool and dewy, which was fine because the two of us were equally outside where the both of us sweat like female dogs that are in season to mate and have babies.

I took Strange Dew/Conventional Dry Particle into that sun-shower of a birthing room and watched her (or him, depending on the time of day) die. I don’t know why I did this, aside from the fact that I knew it positively needed to happen. I had no choice and limitless alternatives, so you see where I’m coming from, don’t you?

I looked at the tightly squinted eyes that were wide open and realized that at the end of the day, which is also when the cock roosts or something, that no matter what time it is, or whichever ground you choose to stand on you’ll always be a dogbot. It's just how things are.

For further reading on multiverses and simultaneous realitiesgo here.