In the end he had to drag the thing. He used two hands, lugging the bag behind him as it jounced over alley refuse, snagged for a moment in a sour puddle, then finally gave. He huffed and puffed from the exertion. He wasn’t used to carrying anything larger than foldaway tablet, an ecig, and his eccentrically large wallet stuffed with old business cards from people he’d never call. Cory smelled of sweat and perfumed vape smoke. He grinned almost evilly at his accomplishment as he sat there in the black alley staring down at the duffle.
It could have been a body in there. In a way it was. This body, cut from industrial plastics, reused and re-sodered metal pipe. The extension legs were still a work in progress. He had to remind himself to lean into the thing when he finally got it standing, less it fall backwards, where he’d never get it off the ground again. Maybe it would kill him on impact. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate piece of installation art?
Cory sucked in a dry breath. He was long past daydreaming. This was all about execution. On the still wind he could hear traffic from the alley mouth, people moving back and forth in the ant tracks of their lives, a siren distant but still close enough for his heart to catch in a long red pulse. He was so close now.
He dug into the bag, starting with the base. This part was easy. He’d made the thing so that the base could roll up on its own. The wobbly metal extension pipes he called legs slid into holsters at either side of the thing. Finally the head. It was a repurposed gas mask, the breathers marred by several dozen tiny nozzles also repurposed from the dozens of printers he’d found at the dumpsite. Once the ink started costing more than the printers he’d started collecting the old things. It wasn’t long after that inspiration struck.
On its legs now the thing looked like a pot-bellied dwarf in a gas mask. He giggled, just a little as he threw the main switch. The dwarf bucked and wobbled and Cory nearly forgot to brace himself against its back. Cory shot out his too thin arms and leaned into it as it started to topple. He caught it flush and it righted itself. The the machine started to rise. It elevated to four times its height, balancing on those metal poles, scanning the far wall of the alley like a thing stolen from lost in space.
It made no sound. It’s garrish gas-mask head swiveled left, then right, then focused on a spot on the wall. Then, it began to draw.
Some Thoughts:
- Decided to use the time to put down a quick first draft on a micro piece about a guy and his drawing bot making grafitti in an alley.
- Had to renumber a handful of entries, because I skipped a number at some point. I’ll eventually need to go back through the 3300+ recorded entries and figure out how many more were misnumbered…