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daily – 22

“Dive, my Hawkmen! Diiiiiive!”

The rough-voiced cry rings out from the surround speakers set into the tops of the walls. Patrick’s call signature. Every time I hear it I’m reminded just how little actually changes in the world. Flash Gordon was a retread when I was a kid, and it’s recently back in the buzz again with the interactive shows. Typical Hollywood ‘creativity’.

“Answer phone,” I say as I top the stairs. “Hi Patrick. Heading home soon?”

“Hey, Dad? Did you,” there’s some mumbling in the background, “yeah, no, I tried that. Dad, did you cut off my access?”

The last spoonful of paneer drifts back down to the bowl, uneaten, as I step into the office. The screen looks normal. Patrick’s baby picture is bouncing slightly in the corner, telling me he’s online. The satellite feed looks like it’s done with the security key.

“Dad?”

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