“You have things together,” said the stockbroker. “No matter the time or day, here you are, sunning by your rock. I admire that consistency. World’s too chaotic. First you’re rich, then you’re puking in the stall because the Chinese market – and your portfolio – tanked. But you understand. If we want stability, we gotta be the world’s anchor. You’re a prophet, far as I’m concerned. Mind if I join?”
The biology grad student remained silent. He couldn’t spare the energy. Chloroplasts seemed a terrific advancement until he rewrote his DNA, and found they demanded hours of sunlight merely to sustain life.
Alexander B. Joy holds a PhD in Comparative Literature from the University of Massachusetts Amherst. His prose has previously appeared in The Atlantic, Critical Read, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, and elsewhere. He lives and works as a curriculum editor in his native New Hampshire, where he spends his leisure time reading philosophy and writing haiku. Twitter: @aeneas_nin.
The Centifictionist 
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