Three pawns stand around my character with admiration. 

“How can we serve you Arisen?”

My quest log scrolls with replaceable conversations and creatures to kill

The map stretches with kingdoms and caves to exhaust of button cycles

Nameless digital bodies produce cries for help 

How can we serve you Arisen? 

I buy tickets for the Zephyr line in preparation to move

Many names which used to appear in my phone have faded away

Me and my partner haven’t spoken for two months

I sit at my dining table, wondering why I repeat these cycles

How can we serve you Arisen?