by Robert Gryfft
"Talk? About what?" She looked like she'd bitten a lemon.
"Anything! Everything! Our lives, work, the future!"
She pouted. "Stuff's depressing. You should dial down."
I sighed. "Look--"
She took off her shirt.
I reluctantly dialed my IQ gearbox to 60, even lower than she'd turned hers.
There was nothing reluctant about anything after that.