I waved hello to Wilson, my neighbour, and then his head exploded.
His body collapsed onto the lawn, surrounded by a pattern of burnt wires, screws and twisted metal. One of his eyes landed in my coffee, bobbing there like a startled marshmallow.
“Oh no…” his wife came running out. “Not again! They said he was fixed properly last time.”
I shrugged, sympathetically. “Engineers always say that.”
“I suppose. But you never have that problem, do you?”
“Me?” I fished out his eyeball. “Why would I? Sandra’s not a bot.”
“Well, no, but you… oh. Oh my. Didn’t you know?”
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