Continued from Industrial Sadie.
“I can’t tell you how much that thing’s brought me…”
It was 5pm, employees came pouring from the building, ready for their trips home. Near the top were the offices of a law firm. The firm known as Jim and Jerry.
“…Jim? You listening?”
Jim was standing behind his desk, looking out over the city. “Yes, sorry Jerry. Your designer shitrat?”
Jerry chuckled. “Yeah, I know you see them rolling around in the mud or dying on the sidewalk all over the city, but all you have to do is find the right one and train it right. Some nice matching colors and good offspring, people will pay you to show it off and adopt their foals.”
Jim turned around, packing up his things, he prepared to leave for the day. He and Jerry began their walk out.
“Last one paid me a hundred bucks for one of her foals,” Jerry said. “I didn’t even buy the mare, just found her chirping on the ground on one of my walks…”
“Do they pay for its shit too? They make that even faster than they make babies.”
“I mean…” Jerry shrugged. “It’s gotta be more valuable than regular fluffy shit.”
They both descended silently down the elevator, and began their walk through the lobby and out the door.
“Well, see you tomorrow, Jim. And I’d really give that fluffy thing a shot, if it doesn’t work out you can just throw it in the trash, nobody’ll give a shit.”
Jim nodded, and the two parted ways. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Jim began his walk home. In truth, he didn’t think about the furry vermin too much. Usually he’d glance them while he walked, pissing or shitting on something, making their stupid babble talk at him. The one time he even acknowledged them was that little family on the roadside.
He remembered that moment, walking home through the outskirts of town, talking to Jerry on the phone about his daughter’s party. There was a mare and a few foals. They had begun pestering him. All Jim remembered was bringing his foot down on the green one. He hadn’t lost sleep over it, that foal would’ve died from something else anyway. Plus, he was a lawyer.
Still, that was the most he’d interacted with fluffy. Jim walked down the side of the building, passing one of the new machines that had been installed there recently. He passed by it, like he did every day, but this time he stopped. Remembering what Jerry had said, he walked back over to it.
Foal-in-a-Can? What the hell have these shit-tards come up with now?
The name on the machine wasn’t lying, behind the glass were, in fact, foals in cans. Being a high-class neighborhood, they’d given the thought of filling it with average to good colored foals. No “poopies” to be seen. Shallow, but I’d do the same. Looking over all of them, Jim thought to himself.
Do I really want to keep one of these? Well… Shannon’s been complaining her ass off that I’m always working. Bet she’d like some company around the house.
He scanned each can, weighing which one would be best. One caught his eye, can E3. It was an alicorn, a blue one sleeping away at the premium pad on the bottom of the can. Jerry’s been going on about his smug red alicorn bitch, maybe I can one-up him with ol’ blue.
Jim swiped his card through the machine, watching as it took ten bucks from his account. I could buy the whole machine and toss it off the roof, might be a better investment. Even so, the hydraulic arm grabbed the can, moving it to the edge and slipping it down into the collection tray.
Jim picked it up, looking it over. The foal hadn’t even opened its eyes yet, still its bright blue coat shined in the sunlight. Yeah, I think you have a future, and if you don’t, I’ll throw you away and start again.
I do love a good foal in a can story.