Fragments from books that don’t exist: The Switch is On


In another half an hour the sun would set and this rendition of life on Enceladus would come to an end. Its icy waves would freeze in place and its denizens would be rolled up and stashed in the nearest cubbyhole. Rovaldo leaned back and inspected this latest round of creation, and decided it was good enough for entry in the database. Forty seven hundred points were added to his collection and the other players in the game nodded and prepared to take their turn. It was a solemn bunch that gathered weekly in the twilight behind the supermarket parking lot. Once a haven for avid plastic recyclers, the wasteland now also featured planet-builders and bottle-cap collectors. For the wandering homeless, it no longer sufficed to drift. Nowadays you had to have something more to offer, some talent, some hobby, a gift. Rovaldo didn’t mind. He’d always been one of the stranger demigods. He liked it that the others were now being dragged into the realms of profitable productivity.


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