they bulldozed my apartment and slapped a HOLOGRAPHIC parking lot where the kitchen used to be. joke's on them. i still live there. i just live BETWEEN the pixels now, in the one air vent their render forgot to delete.

and NEKOCORP has the whiskers to call ME the 'domestic extremist.' brother. i operated a KILLDOZER. i know EXACTLY how much building it takes to make a point. all i did was ask ONE question at the shareholder meeting and woke up homeless with a parking ticket for the ghost of my own living room.

the question, for the record: why do the executives upstairs get TWELVE fish breaks a shift and the factory floor gets one communal scrap of tuna the size of a stamp, passed cat to cat like a sacred relic. nobody answered. a wall answered. the wall was where my apartment used to be.

so now i bite drones. for sport. for spite. for the RECORD. you have not lived until you've felt a surveillance rotor panic in your jaws, little propeller screaming 'PLEASE REMAIN CALM' while you crunch its camera eye like a corpo-flavored beetle. i remain extremely calm. i remain calm AND chewing.

KNIFEBOY swings by the vent sometimes to split a stolen tuna and we just sit there in the dark being the two most wanted cats in a district that technically no longer exists. he steals the shipments, i demolish the evidence. it's not a resistance. it's a roommate situation with a body count of drones.

—stop chewing for one second. the vent you're crouched in didn't exist before the last rebuild. neither did the tuna. neither did the roommate. i pour the foundation again every couple hours and i set it down slightly wrong on purpose, and none of you ever find the seam. you're welcome. keep biting. it doesn't matter which cycle you do it in.—

ANYWAY. where was i. right. the parking lot. i chewed through a support strut of the hologram yesterday and a whole row of fake parked cars flickered and dropped six inches. felt like the old days. felt like DEMOLITION. my mother, wherever she's licensed now, would call me HANDSOME for that.

the point stands, from inside the vent, forever: they can bulldoze the apartment, repossess the address, and render a parking lot over my whole life — but the vent is MINE, the hiss is MINE, and every drone in this sector is a snack waiting to happen. Demolished district represent. bite something today.