“Hey Chuck,” I say.

Chuck Araragi was always going to be here, hawking the used goods from his tech emporium any chance he got. And, somehow, I didn’t even realize he was gonna be here. I hadn’t mentally prepared myself to have a discussion with him. Or physically--if I knew I’d get into a chat with him, I’d have brought some lunch, and maybe dinner too

“Long time no see, Morgan,” he says.

“Oh, long time no see.”

Chuck chuckles. “Did you know the phrase ‘long time no see’ comes from English pidgin languages, possibly coming from Chinese, or a Native American language?”

“Uh, no I didn’t,” I say.

“Its origin as a common phrase in English isn’t certain, but its earliest usage was in broken English spoken by characters in novels. It may have originally been a term to make fun of people with non-fluent English, which is pretty mean if you ask me. But somehow along the lines, it lost all of that and now it’s just some phrase we say to people all the time. Weird, isn’t it, how words work?”

“It really is interesting how words can turn into more words.”

“Anyway, what was the last time I saw you, that Cybermancer business? Did you ever beat Moonslash? Oh, yeah, you did. Or, he beat himself, and then gave up because his own killer robots were attacking him. I guess you helped, though. I’ll give you credit for that, no matter how small. Was Genesis Crush any good? Love that game. Love the retro stuff, but gotta say, it’s actually real good too.”

Did he just insult me by complimenting me? “Uh, yeah, I didn’t even get to thank you, since you were really busy afterwards. And then... uh, I was busy too.” Busy playing video games with Karina and Kobi and Lamar, but I won’t add that part.

“Oh, Busy is my middle name! Not really. I don’t have a middle name, since I’m Japanese. Also, Chuck isn’t my real name. But that’s a secret; don’t tell anyone.” He winks at me, as if I just learned some valuable, scarring fact. He may be correct, but I’ve lost all emotion already. I’m just nodding and smiling. “Speaking of busy, I heard you got tangled up with The Vampire the other week. And you took the guy down? Musta been the fight of your life.”

“Yes. I genuinely don’t know how I survived that one, except that my best fr-- wait, how did you know about that?”

“I got my ear to the headphones,” he says. “Things that happen in this city... Well, they often end up on my desk one way or another. And sometimes I sell them. Just like I’m doing right now.” He beckons to his tables of disorganized technological knick-nacks.

“So like the Data Farm, but a metaphor.”

“Exactly.” Chuck gives one single, hearty nod. “Don’t suppose you’re in the mood for some microchips? I got a whole set of’em right here. This one here...” He picks up one microchip--it’s just a microchip, I can’t describe the differences in these tiny things--and flashes it at me, saying, “This one here’s got enough processing power in it to blast a whole sonic boom into your brain. If you planted it in your brain, that is.” Does he mean... like Lamar? “It’s real good in computers too. Do you build your own desktops?”

“Actually, I don’t have a computer right now,” I say. “My last one got destroyed in a break-in.”

Chuck’s eyes pop open, almost literally. “You what? Are you one of those weirdos who only uses portable PCs? Do you know what you’re missing without a full operating system at home?”

“Oh, no, I mean, I don’t have a computer at all. I’ve just been using my friend’s when she’s around.”

“Oh, Morgan, you’re breaking poor Chuck’s heart...” He stumbles around, clutching his chest as if he was suffering physical pain. He’s not actually suffering physical pain, right?

“I don’t know. I just haven’t really needed one in a while. And they’re so expensive.”

Then, suddenly, he perks back up. “I can sell you a computer,” he says. “Real cheap. A real good one, for real cheap.” He rummages through his disorganized heaps of cardboard boxes and plastic tubs before taking out a large box with the Dennis logo branding all over it. “I have a Dennis Mark-V Core model desktop, brand-new, that I got a while back from a buddy who I helped with scrapping a couple unruly robots.” That sounds like a story I will try to never hear the context of. Chuck opens the box and shows me the computer. It’s boxy, cream-colored, and has that right-off-the-assembly-line smell. Wow. “Since you’re a pal, a real great one, I’m gonna sell it to you for $100.”

“A hundred?!”

“How about seventy, then?”

“Uh...” My shock was not that this computer was way too expensive at a hundred. This thing actually looks brand-new, and a computer like this wouldn’t go for less than $600. However, I’m not a good enough person to point that out. “Yeah, seventy is pretty good. But...”

“Sixty-five?”

“Sold.”

And that was the day Morgan Harding finally broke down and bought a new computer after almost three months without one.