#poxes

(Look, there’s a release date, and it’s not a lie.)

Once upon a time I told people that Jay was going to be a bad boy. I'm really embarrassed that I ever said that because at this point he is...

...a neat freak workaholic quantum computation dork who drives a compact hybrid electric vehicle? Which is JUST LIKE being a bad boy.

This week's snippet details Jay's qualifications as a bad boy.

~~~

I pull out my phone and find my chat with Actual Physicist from last night and start writing. It’s working! I think it’s working! Although I shouldn’t count my post-apocalyptic chickens until they properly die of the plague.

I’m never sure if he’ll be around during the day. Sometimes, it takes him hours to get back to me. Today, though, it takes him thirty seconds to reply.

Awesome. A pox be on you!

I smile. A pox be on everyone! I consider this, and then offer this careful amendment. Actually, the simulator starts off with a 48% survival rate. So really, only one of us should statistically be poxed.

Hmm. A. writes. That’s a 23% chance both of us survive.

I think he is flirting. It would take a giant dork to flirt with, “I hope we both survive a super-flu infection,” but since his screen name is “Actual Physicist,” odds are that he is a giant dork.

Because I am also a giant dork, this is how I flirt back: 27% chance we both die. Until 5 minutes from now, when I rerun the simulation with a 46% survival rate.

That’s about as specific as we usually get. Except this time…

Promise me that if there’s ever an apocalypse, you’ll let me join your roving band of survivors?

He would never be able to find me. He doesn’t know my name. Doesn’t have my picture. We only ever talk about meeting in the most hypothetical of senses.

Hmm, I type in return. Do you have any useful skills? Hunting, gathering, cage-fighting?

...Feynman diagrams?