Chongqing Punk

About Chongqing Punk

They’re stealing from her: her time, her soul, the weather. And no will listen to her. In Chongqing — the cyberpunk city, where the forecast can violently change on a dime — Linda’s looking for answers. And everyone’s pointing to a mysterious figure who makes cryptic, conspiracy-tinged videos: Western Toilet. But is he even real? Subscribe to follow Linda down the rabbit hole, and watch Western Toilet’s actual missives on youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026 (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026). “Chongqing Punk” is a serialized audio fiction series by Emily Hulme and Peter Sikoski. Keep up with the creators on patreon.com/chongqing_punk (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_pun).

Publisher

Emily and Peter

Category

fiction

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

24 Feb 2026

Latest episode

10 Jun 2026

Latest episodes

16 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   10 Jun 2026

   The Abandoned Factory — Ep. 16

   Episode transcript: It was so late it was early, a time Linda hadn’t been out for a long time. She and Song An were wandering somewhere in a wooded area off a highway in Bei Bei, and Linda was starting to reassess the night’s choices. But, there it was. A clearing up ahead with a derelict old factory. Industrial, but not industrial, noises wafted out from inside. “Ugh, come on,” said Song An. “We’re late.” Linda followed Song An inside. A small stage was made out of discarded junk in the corner of a cavernous nothing. It held two guys with a keyboard and what in an academic setting might be called assorted percussion, but in an empty factory in the middle of the night was realistically a box of random shit. There was an overloaded plug strip to the side of the stage, and its electricity end snaked off out of the room. The percussionist-singer screamed into a mic and … noises happened. It was amazing. There were six other audience members, all guys, keeping their distance from one another. No one was dancing, except Song An, who didn’t need a beat to get her groove on. No one was filming this, either, Linda noticed. At the concert’s end, without ever having addressed the audience, the two guys simply started packing up their gear. “Who was that?” Linda asked. “Greg and the Dinosnaxx,” said Song An, a little too loudly, in the aftermath of all that noise. “They’re from around. The one guy is a teacher at the music college.” “Cool,” said Linda. “Yeah, I thought you’d be impressed by that shit,” said Song An. Everyone, including Greg and the Dinosnaxx, trundled out into the daylight Gary or Dinosnaxx had a van, and they said it was cool if everyone crammed in. “We’re headed back to the city.” Linda crammed in, next to an old, broken looking amp. Three of the six other guys started smoking, without rolling down the windows. Linda looked at Song An. “Thank you for bringing me. I’m having a wonderful time,” she said. Song An sneered. “Of course you are. Be cool.”

2. 

   10 Jun 2026

   Reunited — Ep. 15

   Episode transcript: “It’s not an art project,” said Song An, referencing the scene she had been making at Echo Bay. “It’s just what I felt like doing.” She and Linda had both been forcibly escorted from the club. Now they were at an outdoor barbecue joint, with the rest of the rambunctious drunks. “That can be art,” said Linda. “Art can be whatever you feel.” Song An was shoveling morsels of beef into her mouth. When they were ordering, Song An insisted she was a vegetarian, but when the dishes started coming in, she tucked right into Linda’s carefully curated selection. Classic Song An. Linda’s reaction was to say nothing and eat all of Song An’s vegetables. Classic Linda. The number of the bottles on the table was how they kept track of how many beers they had had, and it was a lot. Song An did at least have a satisfying reaction to all the Weather Aboveground business. “That’s bullshit and they’re all bullshit!” she held up a bottle to the next table, “It’s bullshit, right?!” The guys next door lifted their beers in a return salute, “Bullshit!” Linda had to forcibly restrain Song An from travelling straight to Moldova to kick some ass. The guys probably would have went with her. “I don’t think that’s where they are, for real. That’s just where their IP address is.” “Well then, I’ll kick the shit out of their IP address,” offered Song An. Linda didn’t need Song An to do anything. It was just nice to have someone actually angry on her behalf. “You don’t use it, do you?” asked Linda. “Fuck the weather. You wanna go see a band? They’re playing a derelict factory up in Bei Bei. I’m trying to poach their drummer,” said Song An. “You have a band? That’s awesome,” said Linda. “I am the band,” said Song An. A Didi dropped them off in the middle of a dark stretch of highway. Linda was now carrying gobs of cash these days, and paid the man an exorbitant fare, both for going off app and way out of the city. Who knows how they were going to get home. Linda and Song An clambered over the safety rail and walked concrete pathway that narrowed as it went further into the trees. Linda tried not to think about wild dogs. Song An was unbothered, but also not too sure of the way. She chattered on about assholes and plans and bands she’d seen as they walked this way and doubled back. Neither of them had a map app, and Linda was actually starting to feel scared, especially after she pissed out most of the drunk by the side of the path. “There’s no one out here. Are you sure this is a thing?” she asked. “Got somewhere to be?” asked Song An. “Yes!” said Linda. “Home sleeping.”

3. 

   10 May 2026

   Linda the Punk — Episode 14

   TRANSCRIPT Linda hadn’t always been a respectable business owner. In her misspent youth she’d been a dissatisfied hellion, railing against the squares. Nuts Club, 12 years ago, Punk Fest. Subs was playing. SUBS, from Beijing. Beijing sucked too, but Subs was awesome. They were Linda’s favorite band. She wanted to be Kang Mao when she grew up. And she didn’t want to grow up. As two broke kids, Linda and Song An couldn’t afford the tickets. And they were already known at the club. Once Song An stole a bottle of gin from behind the bar. She got kicked out, but somehow managed to hold onto the gin. She and Linda split it over barbecue and got into a spectacular fight. Linda flipped the table and Song An started throwing beer bottles until the boss threatened to call the police. And then they were a team again, running from the assholes. “We could wear disguises,” said Linda, brainstorming ways to get into the show. “No way,” said Song An. “Never hide who you are. Or why bother being anyone at all.” In the end, Linda didn’t remember how they got in — snuck in through the backdoor, or something — but it was the loudest, grimiest, most intense show she’d ever seen. She got Kong Mao to sign her arm after the show and she didn’t wash it off for weeks. Song An tried to tattoo it on with a pen and a needle, “Like they do in prison, or on TV.” Linda withstood the pain for about five pinpricks. That surviving greenish dot looked like a gross birthmark, but Linda knew what it meant. They tried to start a band themselves one summer. Practice involved screaming lyrics at each other while banging on instruments they inherited from friends who had moved on to university or whatever. It was incredible, but they kept getting chased out of their practice space for being too awful. So instead they stole a rusty dumpster from a construction site and made it into a swimming pool for some relief from the hot, hot heat of the summer in Chongqing. It was a wet mess and, frankly, a tetanus risk, but damn if it wasn’t a good party until it fell apart. Linda eventually succumbed to pressure to be respectable. Brian came along and believed in her pizza dreams and Song An faded into the background. At least from Linda’s perspective. Song An could never fade, and don’t let her hear you implying that she could.

4. 

   4 May 2026

   Enter Song An — Episode 13

   Transcript: “Why don’t you go out with the boys,” Brian suggested. “You’re always happier after a little Squatty time.” “Eww. Don’t call it that,” said Linda. “Take a Squat. Work the glutes. Get that ass to grass!” said Brian, demonstrating perfect deep squat form. Linda smiled. “There we go,” said Brian. “I know you’re mad, but ‘mad all the time is a distraction perpetuated by the attention sucker.’” “You’ve been watching Western Toilet!” said Linda. Brian shrugged. “He’s funny.” So Linda got it together and messaged Squatty. He immediately messaged back a location pin and said to meet them there in one hour. It was a quiet street that looked nearly deserted, but down a small alleyway, there was a door that opened into a crowded dance club. In the corner of the room, a tiny young woman wearing giant earphones and homemade jewelry was staring intently into a couple of computer screens, and the people on the dancefloor pulsed along to the beat. How come Linda didn’t know about these places? She’d lived in this city all of her life. She used to be cool. But the boys were living in a whole different world. Linda drinks. “Your honorarium!” they would say. The DJ played weird stuff and Linda started having fun. She danced with the boys and associated friends and some straight-up strangers. Wendy showed up in an outfit she had designed and sewed herself from vintage fabrics. The music was loud and conversation was impossible. You could just yell things into the party and everyone cheered back. It was that kind of night. “I’m obsessed with a conspiracy that I made up in my own head!” Linda shouted. “Right on!” Wendy shouted back. And for a moment, Linda felt free. Maybe everyone else was right. Instead of getting all worked up about things outside of her control, she should have just gone dancing. She used to love to dance. At 2:30 am, the DJ put on a remix of the Weather Aboveground jingle, “It’s the conversation we’re all having,” chopped and screwed into sonic scrambled eggs. “Throw your vote up on the wall!” the DJ intoned. Everyone projected their watches at the club walls. Cloudy icons filled the room. “This is you!” said Adrian. “The protest vote! You made this happen!” Linda felt sick, “This isn’t me. I’m not protesting; I don’t vote. They’re … stealing your data.” “Oh, yeah. Your thing with your aunt,” Adrian said. “But I mean … who doesn’t have your data. And if I get up to 40,000 Weather Points, I get this sick customizable avatar.” “Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your avatar,” said Linda, with a sarcasm that Adrian missed. A sudden commotion drew the attention of everyone in the room. “Oww, you fucking bitch. You did that on purpose,” A guy was yelling at a woman about Linda’s age. “She shocked me. She has some kind of thing and she shocked me!” “Too right, I shocked you,” said the woman. She had artfully messy hair and impish, wild eyes, and she was wearing rubber slippers. “Your complacency is killing you.” She shuffled her feet on the floor and thrust her finger at the guy again, menacingly. He jumped back. “Song An?” called Linda. The troublemaker looked over. “Oh, hey Fuck-face! Long time, no see.”

5. 

   4 May 2026

   Lawyer Time — Episode 12

   Transcript: “You went to Dan-druff?” asked Brian. “That guy! You know he interviewed with us three times.” After sitting on it for a few days, Linda told Brian about her brush with potential cybercrime. He was of the impression that setting her money on fire would have been as effective as paying Stinky Dan for retribution against the “Moldovan hackers.” “Whoever is running these accounts is probably not even in Moldova. You want me to bring it to work? I could do some digging,” offered Brian. “Though I agree with Dan-druff that making a blocklist and getting on with your life is probably the best course of action.” “But, like, they made a macabre puppet of my Aunt Rose,” said Linda. She’d had a few days to think of exactly what bothered her about this. “I know. And that’s shitty,” said Brian. “But it’s happening all over the internet. Maybe you should sue Bleater. Be some kind of landmark case.” Linda knew he was kidding, but this new direction felt like something to do. The world was changed by people taking action, after all. So armed with the list of IP addresses Stinky Dan had compiled, Linda went to see her old college pal Nessa, who had helped her with some of the paperwork for setting up the pizza place. “Linda, it’s family law,” said Nessa when Linda showed up at her office. Nessa was sat at her desk piled high in files and papers, an untouched takeaway container from a lunch that should have been eaten hours ago sitting precariously close to the edge. “I practice family law.” She was dressed in a rumpled nice-ish suit, and her long hair was hastily pulled back with … was that a pencil? Did anyone do that outside of movies about busy lawyers. “You’re the only lawyer I know,” said Linda. “I know,” said Nessa, with a sigh. “I’m the only lawyer everyone knows. Let me poke around, see what I can find that might point you in the right direction. Is there internet law? Get out of here; I’ll let you know if I find anything.” “Just one more question. Would you be able to represent me if I was associated with a cybercrime?” “Jesus Christ, Linda!” “OK. I’m going. Do you want these?” Linda asked, waving the printout of numbers she had brought. “No,” said Nessa. “Put them on … this pile.” Things moved slowly in real life. In an action movie, Linda felt they’d be in some kind of chase scene, shaking down bad guys and getting some answers. In this world, Nessa got back to Linda to say she wasn’t really sure there was anything actionable to prosecute. “I can write you a stern email,” she told her. “But there’s really not much to do here that would be worth the cost of the court filing fees. Unless you want to pioneer a class action suit.” “How would we do that?” asked Linda. “Oh, God! I was kidding!” said Nessa. “I don’t have the resources for that?” Linda was disappointed. She accepted her sternly worded email as a consolation prize, but she didn’t actually have any place to send it. Squatty offered to print it in the next issue of the zine, and that was kind of that. It was very unsatisfying. The weather, meanwhile, continued to be cloudy and cold. After having perfect conditions every day, people were starting to notice and grumble. But to Linda, it felt like a return to normalcy. People should experience some discomfort, she thought. It was good for resilliancy and moral fiber, or something. Anyway, Linda poured all of that dissatisfied energy into working with Squatty and the boys on the zines. She wasn’t sure that her writing was any good, but it was words. Squatty was very encouraging. “Self-expression is the thing!” he said. “It’s what life is made of.”

6. 

   14 Mar 2026

   That'll show 'em — Episode 11

   Episode transcript: Stinky Dan was a “hacker” that Squatty knew. He was massive, like a figure drawn by someone who recently learned that the human shape is just a series of different circles, and he hulked behind his mutil-screened desktop. And, he did have a kind of chemical odor that Linda couldn’t quite place. “Is that why he doesn’t live at the squat?” Linda asked Squatty. Squatty smiled tightly, “Everyone is on their own path, and no judgement, but you also have to have your own boundaries, you know? But I think he can help you.” It was the first time Linda had seen Squatty slightly uncomfortable. They had come to Dan’s with Joe, another member of the Squatty crew who seemed to be the actual connection here. Joe and Dan exchanged cryptic hellos that Linda tuned out as peacocking blather. She also thought she saw something change hands during their elaborate high five, but she also, also didn’t care. Squatty and Linda sat on Dan’s fairly nice couch in his fairly dark living room while Dan and Joe hunched over the computer screen. Linda asked if there were any new Western Toilets but Squatty said he didn’t like to watch them when he couldn’t give them his full attention. Joe kept hurling questions over to Linda as they worked. It didn’t take too long for results. Once Dan got down to digging, he found that all of the bleats urging Linda to rejoin “The conversation we’re all having” — they all came from a similar cluster of IP addresses. Which suggested that one person had taken control of the various accounts. “If you look at, say, Sarah’s posting history,” he said of an old neighbor’s daughter’s account, “she stopped posting regularly about 2 years ago. This post here, ‘This place is getting stale. I’ll see you on the Green Mountain!!’” “That’s that platform for all the weenuses,” Joe interjected. “That was May 2030,” continued Dan, without acknowledging Joe. “And then she doesn’t post again until a few weeks ago. ‘Have you dabbed, yet?! Don’t miss Beany Beanz,’ with a ‘z.’” “Beany Beanz is so based,” said Joe. “Don’t click that link,” warned Dan. “Beany Beanz is malware dressed up as cryptocurrency.” “That’s what I meant,” said Joe. “I mean, that sounds bad, but what does this have to do with someone impersonating my dead aunt Rose?” asked Linda. Dan summed up his findings: “It’s bots. Someone has taken control of these dead … sorry, abandoned accounts to hawk shit to idiots, and someone else hired out these accounts that have a connection to you to target you.” Dan said that he could set up a blocklist of the IP addresses, so that Linda didn’t have to see them anymore. “Or you could join your friend Sarah on Green Mountain, where most people are now anyway.” “But, like, can you get them?” Linda asked, feeling both bored and enraged by what was happening to her. “What do you mean ‘get’ and who do you mean by ‘them’” Dan asked. “Is it Button? I know it’s Button,” said Linda. “This IP address is in Moldova,” said Dan, like that meant anything. “So do your little clicky clacks and find out who it is in Moldova!” she said. They had spoofed her aunt’s account, or whatever, and Aunt Rose had been Linda’s favorite. Desecrating her memory should come with some consequences. “What if I really did think it was her ghost?” Linda was on the verge of tears, which had made Joe retreat to the kitchen. Dan just shrugged his shoulders. “If you wanted to monetize this solution, we could talk next steps.” Squatty put his hand gently on Linda’s shoulder. “Maybe let’s get some fresh air before we put any money down on … something we might regret.” “You came to me, these are the tools I have, man,” said Dan. Linda was shaken out of her rage by the quickly escalating tension and let Squatty bundle her out of Dan’s apartment. But she filed away “next steps,” just in case. Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk).

7. 

   7 Mar 2026

   Fun and games with mustaches — Episode 10

   Episode transcript: After hanging out long enough, the kids started inviting Linda along for what they liked to call their “small acts of pointless rebellion.” “Purposlessness is a great joy of life,” said a young woman with short, purple hair called Wendy, who seemed to be the ringleader for this faction of the crew. “Is that a Western Toilet?” asked Linda. Wendy rolled her eyes, “No. It’s a me.” Squatty just laughed and said, “You know she’s cool, because she’s kind of mean.” The acts were stuff like, one afternoon, they went around the neighborhood and taped little paper mustaches to the face scanning screens at all the apartment complexes. Mostly, if the security guards noticed them, they yelled them off. One even gave half-assed chase. But more than one amused themself by examining their own mustachioed face in the screen. “Is this what changing minds feels like?” Linda asked Wendy. “God. Have you never taken an art history course,” Wendy responded. She snapped her fingers at an, well, underling, who rummaged through her backpack. Wendy peered in over her shoulder. “Give her ‘Grapefruit,”’ said Wendy. The underling hefted a large hardcover into Linda’s hands. Linda examined the spine. “By Yoko Ono. … I notice this ones not from the library.” “No,” said Wendy. “I stole it. From Garden Book in Shanghai.” “What if I steal it from you?” asked Linda. “You should,” said Wendy. “And then give it to someone else who needs art in their life.” Another evening, the gang snuck up to the roof of a nearby abandoned building to add to the graffiti that was already there. Some brought chalk, some brought spray paint. Linda brought a permanent marker. She didn’t know what to draw, so she pulled up to a section of wall and just started making small squares. Wendy came over with a beer for Linda. “Nice geometry,” she said. “I can’t draw,” said Linda. “Everyone can draw,” said Wendy. “Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t know if that’s true,” said Linda. “Suit yourself,” said Wendy. A small circle of drinkers coalesced in the middle of the roof. Adrian called Linda over to sit by him. There were no stars, but it was a peaceful night. Noise of the city drifted up from below, sounding a thousand miles away. “Do you guys do stuff life this every night?” asked Linda. “More recently,” said the underling who had given Linda the book. She was called Danny. “I think we’ve been energized by the new blood,” added Adrian. “Oh, who’s that?” asked Linda. “It’s you!” said Adrian. The small circle toasted Linda, “To new blood!” Linda felt warm and happy. Recounting this to Brian later in bed, he remarked that she seemed happier lately. “And, like, your sleep numbers are better, too. Wanna check the graphs?” He offered his watch to Linda. “Nah. I feel like you’ve got a good handle on our bio-metric optimization,” Linda teased. “Hey. When we’re sixty, but we feel thirty, you’re gonna thank me,” he said. Linda hauled her laptop on to the bed. “Babe, the blue light,” Brian said. “I’m just checking my bleats real quick. I’ve got the polarizer on,” said Linda. Brian tugged down his eye shade and slipped on his sleep-vibrations ring. “Good sleep makes good brains,” he said. Linda didn’t answer. She refreshed the tab that would bring up new messages, barely even registering the slowness of the browser-based social experience. Among the posts of vacation photos and video news — both of which were too depressing to engage with for long — there was a new bleat urging Linda to “Come back! It’s the conversation we’re all having!” She had been getting these lately, from old acquaintances. A college classmate she had fallen out of touch with. A friend of a friend she had met once at a party. An overzealous grocery store clerk who got Linda’s contact info before Brian had enlightened her on proper information hygiene. This one, though, was her aunt Rose. Her aunt Rose had died 8 months ago. Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk).

8. 

   7 Mar 2026

   Get the F to the library — Episode 9

   Episode transcript: There was a man. There was a myth. There was a series of videos. Western Toilet, by all accounts, was just some guy living in a place he wasn’t from, making videos about … current events? Politics? Technology? Kind of all of that and none of that, as far as Linda could see. To Squatty, they were sacred texts to live by. They revealed things about the world that he had never seen before, and pointed out a path that was hiding in plain sight. “Don’t be the man they  are insisting you be. Be the person you are.” This wasn’t something Western Toilet ever said. He didn’t have to. Squatty got his message loud and clear, and was dedicated to living it out in the world. Squatty wasn’t some freak, though, obsessed with an internet man. He had a job, and hobbies, and friends. But to truly know the man, you had to watch the Toilet. It was rumored that Western Toilet lived here in town. Squatty and the boys always kept half an eye out for him, primed with questions. Sometimes they’d take special expeditions to see if they could track the locations from his videos. And if there was good barbecue nearby, well, that was all in the course of a day’s work. To Linda, the fervor was a part of youth she had left behind. She was a serious-minded 30-something, after all. Seeking answers from an online guru felt a little … misguided. But then again, that was something that Western Toilet himself said. And, Linda had to admit that life was a little more exciting with something of a quest to pursue. Hanging out with Squatty and his boys, Linda had to wonder if maybe the thing she was missing in her life was just … friends. She liked spending time with the boys, and working on the zine made her feel like a part of something. If anything, it gave her a chance to brush off her traditional paper cutting skills that she left behind in middle school. “He talks about that, in ‘Work is for Jerks,’” explained Squatty. “Don’t be reduced to a paycheck. Do things that are useless to find your true purpose.” Linda argued back that arts and aesthetic crafts weren’t useless, and they were off to the races: a spirited discussion about society’s values and what made life worth living. She could have found similar advice in the self-help section at the library — a place Western Toilet argued they should all be frequenting more often. In fact, the gang arranged a trip to their local library where Linda got her first library card. Her family had reasoned that if they needed books, they’d just go to the bookstore. And then, they never really needed books.

9. 

   7 Mar 2026

   Procrastina ... — Episode 8

   Episode transcript: “If it’s a cult, it’s certainly a soft sell,” said Linda. She had dragged her old laptop out to Miriam’s coffee shop, intending to work on her personal essay. But writing is a task which makes every other task seem more attractive. She was currently explaining the Squatty Squat to Miriam. Since that day, Linda had messaged a few times with Squatty about ideas for the essay — “Do you think it’s possible I might be an artist? I designed a few logos for the pizza place.” His responses were always encouraging and enthusiastic, but there was never any sales pitch or pressure tactics. Just a bunch of guys making zines and kind of obsessed with some online videos. That was another of the things she managed to accomplish instead of writing: Squatty had sent her a playlist: “Start here for enlightenment, wink emoji.” And Linda was starting to get it. Old Gen X hipster with old Gen X anti-corporate ideas. “Stop letting them make you buy stuff,” was the gist. And Linda did. She had been looking at new watches, because after a few weeks she was learning how hard it actually was. Without the bio-metric scan on her watch, she had no way to access any money besides going into an actual bank, for Christ’s sake. And as everyone knew, contemporary banks were not meant to handle people inside. Withdrawing her own cash was a miserable experience that drove Linda straight to browsing minimalist watches that cost more that the pizza place netted in six months. There were cheaper, of course, but the minimalist ones had the feeling that re-buying a watch wasn’t a capitulation to a techno-structure that had been making her feel so oppressed. That’s right, she said it, oppressed. So she ended up not buying a new watch and letting Brian buy everything for her. As Linda was chatting with Miriam, one of the Squatty Boys came in. Adrian. It was a cloudy day, Linda noticed. Cloudy, damp and cold. The kind of weather that used to be appropriate for this time of year, that you didn’t see any more, now that everyone was choosing perfect conditions every time. Adrian greeted Linda warmly. “I’ve been working on something for your piece,” he said. He got a coffee and then he and Linda sat at a table. He pulled up some photos of his work in progress. Adrian had a faux-vintage watch that mimicked the aesthetics of an old Casio wrist calculator. Linda noticed that people of his age were currently wild for the look of things from a time before she was even born. She also had to admit it was pretty cool looking. More fun than the bougie “timepieces” she had been considering. But, no. She was committed to a no-watch lifestyle. Maybe that could be the hook for her essay. Adrian’s artwork was much cooler than even his hip-kid watch. If Linda had had the vocabulary, she would have described it as a mixed media piece; vibrant paper cutouts depicting weather events on a background of decoupaged code. “It’s the public API that Weather Aboveground uses,” Adrian explained. It was really cool looking, and Linda said so. “It makes me wish my essay was better,” she said. “You can starve to death waiting for perfection,” Adrian reassured her. “That’s a Dub-T special.” Inspired, Linda sat down at her computer again to take another stab. The boys had already produced three issues of the zine in the time since she pitched her idea. Linda had even helped them distribute them around town, to mission-allied book stores and trendy boutiques. But Squatty always held space for Linda until just before going to press. When she didn’t make it, they just filled it in with a fake recruitment ad for Viva Coco. “We don’t know what this is, but we’re pretty sure you should join.” One of the guys even made his own buttons for everyone to wear. It was becoming an in-joke with a life of its own. There came a time when a joke outlived its usefulness. Today, Linda was going to finish the essay. Just put one word after another. Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk).

10. 

    2 Mar 2026

    Toilet Dreams — Episode 7

    Episode transcript: Western Toilet was a guy with a YouTube channel. Linda watched the video over Squatty Potty’s shoulder. “I take my name from his example, and I take my life from his teachings,” he said. He said it with a smile, but it didn’t seem like he was joking. Linda watched with interest — if anything could make this house full of boyish chaos come to a stand-still, it must be something. But a lot of it didn’t connect. She couldn’t tell if this Western Toilet was referencing obscure concepts that she didn’t understand or just making shit up. Linda was inclined to suspect the latter, but she felt that saying so might hurt Squatty’s feelings, and more than anything she didn’t want to do that. They guys, they all loved it. After they each watched it on their own, they came back into the living room to discuss. Some of them had even made notes. This video’s theme was maybe “The value of liars in a healthy society” or “the freedom afforded by denying an objective truth.” There was some debate about this. At times, the analysis went frame-by-frame. “Check out this guy’s expression in the background. He’s oblivious, and then … bam! He’s heard the news.” It wasn’t all the Zapruder film, though. Some of the guys, while fully enthusiastic and present, engaged in some side-chatter that was less than serious, and Linda could see a boy called Adrian sketching on a small pad. She shifted in her seat to get a better view. He was penciling out a scene of some snakes at a garden party. Each one had their tail twisted up in different geometric shapes. Adrian noticed Linda watching, and waved her over. “These discussions can get pretty left-brained,” he said in a low voice. “I kind of prefer to let the feeling wash over me while I find my own meaning.” Linda nodded in agreement. The vibe was the thing. “There’s plenty of Western Toilet theories to go around,” he said. “But why don’t I show you some of the old zines? I think you might connect with that more.” Adrian led Linda around to various piles and pulled out some issues to show her. He pointed out various collages and illustrations and other pieces that felt, for lack of a better word, very media-y. “So are you all artists?” She asked. Adrian shrugged. “Isn’t everyone?” “Not me,” said Linda. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short.” Linda asked if the zine was their job, or what. Adrian explained that while they all had what you’d call a “day job,” really, everyone’s job was living a good life. “And what is a good life?” asked Linda. “Well, that’s your ultimate job to decide,” said Adrian. “You know, according to Western Toilet.” He winked. At the end of the — session? Or whatever it was — Linda wasn’t sure quite what this whole thing was — Squatty and the boys in this art-strewn apartment with their video guru. Adrian even said that they suspected Western Toilet lived here in town and sometimes they’d go look for him. “You should come next time.” But she had to admit that she had had a nice afternoon. It was nice to be listened to and feel a part of something. Squatty was a little disappointed that Linda wasn’t quite as taken with Dub-T as he’d hoped. But he was confident she just needed a way in. “I’ll make you a playlist,” he said. “He’s the reason we’re all here, but I know it can take the right entryway to let him in.” After such excitement, Squatty declared it no one’s night to cook, and the guys were all going to go out for Dan Dan noodles and beers. Many, many beers. Maybe some dancing later. Would Linda like to join? Linda demurred for now. She needed to go home and digest all of this resistance. Plus, she wanted to get started on her personal essay for the zine. “That’s all for the best,” said Squatty. “We don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for. You need to come to your own conclusions on your own journey.” “Is this a cult?” asked Linda. The boys laughed. “We’re the opposite of a cult,” said Adrian, brightly. “We’re a brotherhood.” He said it like that wasn’t worse, but Linda smiled. “Well … toilet on, brothers. I’m going home.” “Toilet on … I like that,” said Squatty. Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk).

11. 

    2 Mar 2026

    Meet the Resistance: Episode 6

    Episode transcript: The Resistance was a squalid shared apartment packed with 6 to 8 post-college guys living there at any one time. It wasn’t technically a squat, because Richard’s parents were paying rent, but not everyone who lived there knew it. It was messy, but not dirty, Linda noted appreciatively. There were stacks of paper and projects in progress on every flat surface. “The Zine!” said Squatty. “That’s a huge part of the operation.” He picked up a few issues to show Linda. “This one is about microplastics,” he said, handing her one that had colorful cutouts of different sized bottle on the cover. Cartoonish looking bugs gazed up at the refuse with funny bug eyes. “Oh, and this one … ‘The graffiti tool kit for cool babies.” The headline did, in fact, say that, and inside were photos from around Chongqing that had been drawn on to add babies tagging various surfaces. Linda paged through the various zines, and Squatty explained that they published whenever the gang was hit with a certain zeal about a certain topic. Which was most of the time. “Right now we’re working on one about dressing and makeup that make you invisible to face-recognition cameras. It’s quite pernicious, because they can pretty much recognize you unless you’re dressed in full tactical gear, which brings with it it’s own set of problems, but we’re experimenting with different techniques.” That explained the few Ziggy Stardust-looking guys Linda had seen pass through the living room earlier. Linda liked Squatty. He was goofier than she was expecting, given all the build up. But he was earnest and enthusiastic in a genuine-feeling way, and when he listened to you, it’s like you were the only person in the world who had ever been listened to. If Linda was a little younger, she might have thought that she was in love with him. But as it was, she was pretty sure that everyone was a little bit in love with him. She explained her beef with the weather app: “They say ‘it’s the conversation we’re all having’ but … what if I don’t like … having conversations. It’s just such an … imposition. I’m sorry if I’m not explaining it right.” Linda was losing steam, but fortunately Squatty was ready to take up the cause. “Don’t apologize! You’re just falling prey to the most insidious pathogen of our time!” he said. “Corporations overwhelming us with choice paralysis and then taking advantage of us when we’re down to fill our feeds with adds for pizza leggings.” Linda never had the words before, but that was kind of what her problem with the whole affair. She filed away the phrases “choice paralysis” and “pizza leggings” to try her hand again at explaining it to Brian. “I’ve got some videos to show you,” said Squatty, pulling out his phone. “I didn’t even tell you the worst part,” said Linda. “They sent a guy to my place, like every day for a week.” This sent Squatty to new heights. “That is like, actual stalking.” Linda demurred, “I mean, he always bought something. And he left when I asked him to. He left for good after I destroyed my watch in front of him.” “Listen,” said Squatty, placing a hand on her arm, “In no way do I presume to speak for your lived experience, and if you say it wasn’t stalking, then I believe you that it wasn’t. But I also want to open the door to the idea that you don’t need to minimize your feelings. Ever.” “Oh,” said Linda. “Thank you.” They both sat with the moment for slightly too long. Squatty stared into her eyes and in a deadly serious tone asked, “Do you want to make a zine about it?” A relieved laugh bursted out from Linda, “I thought you were going to offer to kill him!” Squatty chuckled. “The thing about me, is I am strictly a non-violent revolutionary. The pen is mightier! And all that. So do you? Want to make a zine?” Linda said yes, and Squatty called the boys to action. Someone wheeled out a big whiteboard and flipped it to a clean side. “This issue’s almost in the can,” announced Squatty, “And our new comrade Linda wants us to drop some truth bombs on the freaking Weather Aboveground! Who’s got pitches?” The guys through out some ideas, ranging from a list of direct actions to take against tech companies to a collage of photographs of sad clouds of paper-mâché. Swept up in the energy, Linda proposed a personal essay about her experience. “That’s great,” said Squatty, and put it on the board. As he was writing it down, Linda remembered that she hadn’t really written anything since school. But she did feel excited to be a part of things. She decided to listen to that voice, for once, and ignore the haters. It felt like the right thing to do, here in this pseudo-squat full of creatives and idealists. Someone’s watch suddenly dinged. “A new one!” he announced to the room. “This is not a drill,” said Squatty. “You know what to do. We’ll gather back here once everyone’s digested it.” Squatty explained the situation for Linda’s sake: A new Western Toilet video was up. Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk).

12. 

    26 Feb 2026

    Episode 5: The quest for Squatty

    Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk). Episode transcript: After Linda’s outburst, Button did stop coming. He didn’t say much on his way out that last time, but he did tap the Viva Coco sticker that Linda still hadn’t gotten around to removing, and whined “Why do you have this?” Linda asked Brian about it later. He didn’t know. He thought it maybe had something to do with an old American talk show host. He showed her some clips of a red-headed man yelling at another man dressed in a candy cane outfit. That didn’t seem like it. So Linda turned to her only other friend who had any opinions on technology: Miriam. She laughed when Linda described her as an anti-tech warrior. “I’m just trying to make sure my kids grow up able to formulate emotional responses to other humans without hiding behind an AI-animated piece of glass.” She did know someone “techie,” as she described him. A guy called Pot Pop or something? “Like a grandpa?” Linda asked. “No, he’s a young guy,” said Miriam. “Seems like he’s got his finger on the pulse. He might know someone who might know something.” Miriam said he and his friends would periodically come in to try to convince the Instagirlies that true validation came from within. Pot Pop was pretty attractive, so the young women would at least sit and talk with him for a while. The conversations Miriam overheard got philosophical about the meaning of life and technology, and the women would buy him coffees on their watches. He didn’t object to that use of technology. It was a long shot, but a guy people had seen was at least more than a random sticker left a week ago by a skateboard kid. “Pot Pop … I bet that’s Squatty Potty,” said Brian. “That guy is awesome. He plays Frisbee golf with us on Thursdays. Does this under-the-leg throw that just sails down the field.” What a stupid rabbit hole Linda was going down, but it was something to do. Linda went with Brian to their next practice or match or whatever unit of play this sport was divided into. She was greeted by a group of high-fashion athleisure-wearing coeds. But no Squatty. When Linda asked after him, the player she asked got a little cagey. “Who wants to know?” “Um … me,” said Linda. “That’s Brian’s GF,” said another, vouching for her. “She’s cool.” “Sorry about that,” said Cagey. “Squats has history with the Culture Department, so better safe than sorry.” Cagey went on to explain that Squatty was hosting an underground screening of “Midnight Cowboy” at Fireside Second-hand Books. “He smuggled all of the films of Dustin Hoffman into the city on 16 Millimeter,” said Cagey admiringly. Linda mentioned that she thought most movies were available online these days, and not hard to come by. Cagey scoffed, “You need some Squatty in your life. He really opened my eyes.” Brian and Linda got to the bookstore just as the film was letting out. They were able to  ascertain from a group of smokers huddled by the entrance that Squatty had been there, but took off early, “to keep ‘em on their toes.” “Are you sure you really want to meet him?” asked one of the smokers. “Once you know him, you can’t unknow him and the chaos that may bring to your life.” Linda, starting to get bored of the cloak and dagger shit for a guy who only may know what she was after, asked if he had a phone number. The smokers gave each other knowing glances. “Not as far as you know.” Brian bounded over with some more concrete information: Dave, a guy who had been at the screening was headed over to where Squatty was now. They could ride with him, if they could handle it. In the rideshare car, Dave tried to place his body between Linda, Brian and the driver’s GPS, until the driver threatened to kick him out. They were dropped off in a residential area, and Dave led them down a dark alleyway. “I don’t suppose you’ll close your eyes,” he said. “Is this a drug thing?” asked Linda. He led them up to a second-floor apartment which opened into a polite dance party. Crates of albums lined every available surface, and the DJ was spinning the most obscure tracks of ’70s soul. “Is that him?” Linda asked Dave. But Dave had somehow already disappeared into the small crowd. “Yeah! That’s Georgie Wang,” answered a dancing party goer. “Isn’t he the coolest?” “No. I’m looking for … Squatty Potty,” said Linda. If this were a movie, the record would have scratched, and a silent room all looked at Linda suspiciously. As it was, no one noticed, but the dancer recoiled. “I can’t help you with that.” They quickly bolted away. Linda looked to Brian, who was flipping through a nearby crate. “I’ve never heard of any of these bands! I gotta get a record player.” Linda wondered how he was continuing to have such a great night, and she was being treated like an asshole at every turn. Like, was she even in his same reality? But she continued working the crowd, asking discreetly if anyone knew a guy. Finally, someone approached her.  “Are you with someone?” he hissed. “I’m with my boyfriend,” she hissed back, pointing out Brian, who had full-bodily given himself over to The Music. “But, like, look at how you’re dressed. You come in here, looking for a man that many people would like to know.” The guy didn’t put hands on her, but Linda felt herself being backed towards a wall. In her panic, she did take a moment to register that she thought her outfit was fine, but everyone here was dressed much trendier. “I hear you’ve been asking for him all over town tonight. What is your business with our friend?” the guy asked. This whole thing was getting away from her. She looked over at Brian who had somehow procured brightly colored shots and a whole group of friends. She looked back at the guy and decided to try to mirror his wariness. “I need to see a man about destroying an app.” The guy’s body language immediately backed down, and he took half a step back, allowing Linda to breathe. He nodded, took out a small notebook from his back pocket and wrote something down. “You can find him here,” he said. Linda took the note and grabbed Brian, who before he left exchanged contact info with all of his newest bestest friends via watch. They went to the mysterious address from the piece of paper. It was a noodle house, bright and well-lit, soundtracked by the roar of the kitchen’s exhaust fan. A young-man with angelic blonde curls was sitting at a table by the register — not even in a back room or anything. He was surrounded by a gang of other young men, slurping noodles and gazing at him as he talked. Linda approached the table, and the boys tensed. “Are you the Squatty Potty?” she asked. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” “And so you have found him,” Squatty intoned. “Welcome to the resistance.”

13. 

    26 Feb 2026

    Episode 4: Stop the halp

    Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk). Episode transcript: Sometimes you didn’t get what you want or what you need, so the Rolling Stones could eat it, as far as Linda was concerned. She had looked up Viva Coco, and it was a series of Trance Dance Parties that stopped 12 years ago at a club that had moved 3 times since than, and recently closed down. Linda wasn’t big into clubbing anyway. After a pep talk from Brian — “A regular schedule keeps you honest, babe” — Linda decided that she was going to open the pizza place every day this week.  And that she was going to stop participating is Weather Choose forever. Brian said he’d help her unsubscribe from the app, but after following the help pages around in a circle for an hour, he declared it “dark patterns” and told Linda to email the help desk. “Or you could just … you know, do the choose.” Linda sighed and said she would email, and then just hid the app on the last screen of her watch face so she wouldn’t have to see the growing red notification number. Business was going well, though. Linda didn’t really have any regulars anymore, because even at her best, she had been opening pretty erratically. Other people are lothe to plan around “open when I feel like it.” But her storefront was well-placed to catch a lot of walk-in traffic. Unfortunately, one of those walk-ins was Button. “Listen. I’ll call the cops if you’re stalking me,” Linda said the first day he came in. She snapped an unflattering picture of him on her watch. “There’s a record!” It’s not stalking, he told her. If she checked the terms and conditions of the Weather Aboveground app, she’d know that she was entitled to a Special Customer Liaison should she run into difficulty participating in the daily Weather Choose. “It’s free of charge!” “My difficulty,” said Linda, “is that I just don’t want to. Please don’t say that you’re here to help me want to.” She tried to remember some of the moves Miriam had showed her from a Women’s defense course that Miriam had taken a few years earlier. Linda was unnerved by the fact that everything about the idea of this encounter felt threatening, but Button himself turned every interaction into a helpful sales call. As outlined by the EULA, section 12-B, desire was, in fact, an area Button could offer to help in, but enthusiastic consent on Linda’s behalf would be required to proceed. “I have a boyfriend,” said Linda, feeling incredibly lost. And this was how it went: The world’s most boring stalemate. Button would come in, order a slice, and Linda would slightly burn it out of passive aggression. He’d then say, “It’s the conversation we’re all having,” but then not much else until close. If Linda asked him to leave, he’d leave. But he’d be back again the next day. After a few days of mostly ignoring him, Linda finally asked, “Why is this so important to you? The weather used to just happen.” Button snapped to attention. “I’m so glad you asked. It’s not just important to me. A lot of effort and man-hours and, let’s say it, money went into creating and implementing this technology, for all of us! Now it’s something that really brings us together. Weather Aboveground is so proud of its 100% participation rate, and we’re proud of the joy and ease that we bring into the lives of our members. It means we had a vision of the future, and it came true!” This speech enraged Linda. She didn’t need this. She didn’t ask for this. The future was a story rich people sold, and to pretend differently was just … insulting. “I can’t vote,” she said. “I lost my watch.” She unfastened her watch, threw it to the ground, and stamped on it hard. That didn’t quite do it. At least she knew she had done some sound research into which models were the most durable, but that wasn’t helping make her point. So she scooped it off the floor and chucked it into the pizza oven. “Stop coming to my store!” she yelled in Button’s face.

14. 

    26 Feb 2026

    Episode 3: Who is Button?

    Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk). Episode transcript: Linda hated chatters at the coffee shop. Not people who talked to each other; that’s fine. She’s not some kind of monster who insists on silence in public places.  But strangers who took your silence as an invitation. This guy’s name was Button. Linda would have asked him why, but she didn’t want to do anything to encourage the conversation. Also, he seemed strangely interested in Linda’s watch habits. “I don’t know,” sighed Linda. “I don’t make it my personality or anything.” He asked what she had picked in that day’s Weather Choose. Linda lied and said Partly Cloudy. It’s how I feel on the inside, she joked. But he wouldn’t let it drop: “Weather Choose is the conversation we’re all having,” and “Isn’t it amazing that we managed to develop this technology to customize the weather within a local area,” and “The future is here. Get on board.” He offered to help her open the app and make tomorrow’s choice. “I can sign you in from my watch,” he helped helpfully. Linda wasn’t sure what this was. She excused herself to go talk with Miriam. But Button happily joined them. “Why is there an anti-technology protest sticker on the front door of your business,” Button asked Linda. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s time to go,” said Linda, a little bolder now that she was standing next to a friend. Button said something again about “the conversation we’re all having” and “100% participation rate,” and Miriam offered to call the cops. This got Button to move on, although not before offering Linda his card: Customer Satisfaction Liaison, Weather Aboveground. Linda put it in her mouth and chewed. Button walked out the door. “You’re getting stalkers now?” asked Miriam. Linda spit out the card, “He was like, obsessed, with Weather Choose,” she said. “I didn’t choose today. But I don’t know how he knew that.” “It’s the conversation we’re all having,” Miriam imitated Button’s rallying cry. “What if I don’t want to have a conversation?” said Linda. “Why can’t we go back to letting the weather be spontaneous.” Linda was never spontaneous, but she was frequently apathetic. Miriam laughed. She and her husband had debated one night letting the kids download the app, and then picking, say, sleet in the middle of summer. Get them started in some baby culture jamming. But they had forgotten about it by the morning on their family outing to the “Real Paper Books Store.” It was creepy that they had sent someone around to talk to Linda in person about her lack of a vote, though. Miriam said Linda should call customer service to complain. “You’ve got a contact number right here.” She prodded the chewed up business card with the end of a pencil. Linda said she would. “Can you throw that out for me,” she asked Miriam. “Ew. No! I’m not touching that.” Miriam flicked the chewed up wad off of the counter with her pencil. Later that night, Linda tried to look up how to uninstall or unsubscribe or un-anything. That proved tricky. It didn’t just delete like her other apps. So she turned her energies to researching that dastardly “protest sticker,” Viva Coco.

15. 

    26 Feb 2026

    Episode 2: Ads all around

    Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk). Episode transcript: That boy was back, on the skateboard, and Linda heard him clamber up the steps. There was a silent pause … not again. Linda was up and over the counter, but it was too late. She watched the boy slap the sticker on the glass of her front door and then skid down the steps on his board. Some places were sticker places, but not Linda’s pizza place. She prefered a clean look. No decoration, in a minimalist celebration. Linda opened a door to inspect the damage. That damn “Viva Coco” sticker. What did that even mean? She scrabbled at the sticker with her fingers, hoping she caught it before it was really stuck, but that’s not how stickers work. She’d need to get the scraper. That could be a problem for later, she decided. “Viva Coco” could live on for a little while longer. Instead, Linda gave up on the business day and went for a walk. Ads assaulted her on the sidewalk, but because she didn’t have her watch with her, they were addressed to an impersonal, “Hey, friend … couldn’t you go for a dog massage, bite of Yunnan food, afternoon dose of Botox?” It was weird, she noticed, how little she had noticed how well tailored to her demographic the ads usually were. No one even complained anymore that the watches were probably listening to your private conversations, but now Linda had to wonder … were they? How else would they know that Linda was the target market for earrings shaped like allergy medication but not the one for baby onsies proclaiming a fandom for the band Beach House. Passing by her friend Miriam’s coffee shop, Linda left the public sphere where she was fair game for the entire world’s commercial ambitions. More importantly, Miriam would let Linda get a cup of coffee without her watch. “Not doing lunch today,” Miriam commented. “No. No one comes around, so it’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Linda, in a statement that in that moment felt true enough. “‘More trouble than it’s worth’ is the entire beingness of a small business,” said Miriam. She plunked a latte on the table for Linda. To be honest, Linda didn’t really like coffee. She played with the foam, and watched the other customers take photos of themselves around the shop. Miriam’s shop was a perennial hot spot for the snapsters. She had impeccable design sense, and switched up the art on the walls often enough that your pictures were recognizably in a spot everyone wanted to get in their photo, but you could maybe be the first to claim your unique angle. There was a girl with the tags still on her trendy, boutique dress. The store would absolutely know that she had worn it around. Brian had mentioned it once, when they saw someone else doing the same thing. His company had something to do with AI merch tracking for retail. The program would have followed both the girl’s face and the RFID chip in the shopping bag as she passed the various city surveillance cameras and could easily match her to the resulting posted Instagram photos. But if she had enough followers, they might not care that she had worn it outside. Their AI would make that calculation for them at the point of return. It’d be embarrassing for the girl to get rejected, Linda imagined. But maybe it wouldn’t. Different people had different levels. A young man sat down at the table across from Linda. “Do you mind?” he asked. There were pleanty of open tables, but was Linda actually going to say no? The young man scanned his watch feed for a few minutes and then looked back at Linda. “I don’t know what I’d do without this thing,” he said. He was too young to be hitting on Linda, in her opinion. She nodded and looked over at Miriam who was busy actually working. “Where’s your watch today,” the young man asked, not quite casually.

16. 

    24 Feb 2026

    Episode 1: Too depressed for pizza

    Keep up with us on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/@ChongqingPunk2026) and Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/chongqing_punk). Episode transcript: Linda had a pizza shop and a boyfriend who was an idiot. Neither one was helping her get out of bed. She could hear Brian getting ready, and the metabolism reader mounted on her ceiling said she was 45 minutes past opitmal morning nutrion intake time. Linda didn’t know how it knew that — some device Brian had installed in their mattress huffed their farts while they slept, or something, to craft the perfect “sleeping and waking experience.” Linda was pretty sure it was bunk, but Brian said he had different readings from her, and he felt great. “I found your watch,” Brian said, placing it on top of the dresser. Linda thought she had wedged it good into the couch cushions. She’d have to do better next time. She pulled the covers over hear head. Watches were too oppressive to think about, so she flomped her beloved old laptop onto the bed, put on a podcast and pretended she could sleep more. The ceiling display subtly got brighter and brighter. The watch started chirping at around 10 am, and then more urgently at 10:30. When you’re annoyed, it’s annoying. Linda dragged herself out of bed, causing the ceiling to retreat to a more ambient light temperature. She slammed the watch in her sock drawer, but that only muffled the sound She was going to have to go to work. At the pizza place, Linda kept a normal key under a small statue of a frog by the door. She hated frogs, but it was a gift from Brian. “You’re always losing stuff,” he said at the time, proud of himself for having fixed a problem. Linda pushed the manual release button on the electronic entry pad — “Analog entry detected” it announced to no one — and it retracted to reveal the normal keyhole. Inside, the kitchen wasn’t great. She hadn’t felt like cleaning last night, and she didn’t feel like cleaning now. Linda left the closed sign on the front door and laid down on the floor behind the counter. Because she used the key lock, none of the normal systems powered on. A small voice asked at initial entry if she’d like to begin startup, but after lying motionless for a while, the whole aparatus decided that there wasn’t a person inside after all. Sunlight streamed in through the front windows. Another gorgeous one. The tourists were happy and the people who made money off the tourists were happy. They’d probably have rain on a random Monday coming soon to keep the farmers happy. There’d be a campaign on socials to decide the best one. You weren’t supposed to rally for your choice — your voice was your voice and everyone had an equal one after all — but the powers that be looked the other way, because it all seemed to be working OK enough. Linda remembered that she used to like making those memes, but she could never get the timing right to be part of the conversation. One day, she was so off and got ratioed to hell, and it sucked all of the joy out of Photoshopping sunglasses onto a cloud or whatever absurdist imagery she was going for that day. A couple of tourists pulled at the front door. Linda could hear them deliberating about whether the place was quiet, closed, or closed for good, and more discussion of running a small business in a tourist town. Everyone was an expert in everything. “Who doesn’t like pizza,” said one of them. “This place must be pretty bad to fail.” Linda disagreed. She made great pizza.

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