He drops wisdom from underneath a cannabis cloud, this one here, he says, it’s gonna be a lady’s ear, pointing toward his thigh, I get $500 for that, his voice tinny and grating, the fat of his flesh not fully capable of holding up his pants, nor locking in the stench from having gone 3, maybe 5 days between baths, happily showing off all the money his flesh is earning, he places his sausage fingers over two ample breasts, I’m gonna get $8,500 for these, feel them, go on, more lifelike than silicone, real, basically, to the woman who has them stitched on, he reaches for an open bag of chips, then a soda, he then washes down several capsules, I make $40 a day from pharma, these electronic capsules track everything that goes on in my insides, clinics don’t pay a lot for that but it’s steady work, he then puts a fat finger to the side of his head, continues speaking, but maybe none of this is real, he laughs, or maybe it is real but not exactly like this, I make $100 for each altered memory and they pay me $500 for each memory they remove, but I get final say, they can’t take something or change something unless I approve it ahead of time, he tapped a notification on a small screen in his left hand, there, he says, I just approved removal of two childhood memories, nothing special, just normal schoolday stuff, and I’ll make $1,000 for that, he tilts his body to the right, sighs involuntarily, I’m trying to get accepted for brain-to-screen monitoring, that pays enough to buy me a drivered car, but I don’t know, you have to put in a lot of work, real work, to get qualified, apparently in some of the clinical trials testers who saw their dreams and thoughts and memories fully visualized on screen went mad, ruining it for the rest of us, only as he continues his sales pitch, I recall Corinthians, “do you not know that you are a temple of God and that the spirit of God dwells in you,” and I wonder is what he is doing unholy or is it many-holy, I am not entirely sure, but as he reaches for another soda I recall yet another passage in Corinthians which states very clearly that “your bodies are members of Christ,” and then warned, “shall I then take away the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute,” which I find satisfying because that’s what this seems to be, prostitution, a repudiation of the blessings of life, of the body and the magic these possess — possess not for resale, but for glory — only, damn, he’s now telling us that he makes $1,500 for each recruit, which I could do after only 8 months, and the truth is, blogging pays for shit, so I’m tempted, I eye the computer pharma capsules, those alone would pay more than I make writing, almost as much as I make driving old people around, and I realize he is speaking again, still from the comfort of his chair, he probably can’t lift himself up, but it’s a chair that I can’t afford, maybe not ever, he’s talking about a new client, one that pays him $250 each time he lets them edit a single DNA strand, which explains the orangish tint of his skin, which doesn’t look so bad, honestly, at least not compared to his extreme obesity, which I suspect is more due to his lifestyle than his work, and I start to add all this up in my head, hundreds, thousands, and that’s when he cuts off the lady’s ear growing on his right thigh — it’s ready, he tells us — and he then unscrews his left arm, which is a bionic prosthetic, more useful than the original, and I think to myself, fucking magical.