pachao

I get nervous when somebody so much as asks me my name. The words come forced. The answer is not quite as close to the surface as it seems for everybody else. I say “um”, and there is a genuine pause as the machines spin and whir inside.  It feels like I am learning the answer to every question posed to me in the brief period I am given to look at the ground and say “um”. It’s like one of those TV shows with a psychic, who’s every response comes suspiciously delayed, because they’re reading people’s thoughts. I wouldn’t be surprised if people thought I was obviously lying. I’m not lying. I am a poorly designed, often wrong encyclopedia, with huge gaps in information, but brief, bat-shit entries for just about everything.