My fingers move in sync with the predetermined notes that I have recorded over time. Some original, mostly copied. I am not very good at guitar playback but I was never designed as an audio artistic unit.

I was designed as a recreational service unit. I once supplied refreshing beverages to excited, smiling kids, and their equally happy parental units.

Then change over occurred and I was simply replaced by a newer, sleeker, and friendlier unit. I still functioned but as a greeting unit. Two changeovers again and I lost my custodian job.

Retired.

I dislike that word, yet it is much better than obsolete. I prefer it to obsolete. Has a better technical definition attached to it?

I wandered the town and eventually placed myself down in the junkyards. There I waited for inevitable system failure when I found it. Mr. Guitar.

It was in rough shape but it still worked. I was gentle but it was hard. My fingers and joints were not designed for such delicate work or the speed required to strum out a song.

I persevered and began to copy popular songs I heard as I traveled the town. I stopped often as I recorded audio and tried to emulate it. Some days I even achieved 30% accuracy.

Having low-bid manufactured audio parts was definitely a setback. I enjoyed it however and I somehow garnered a small stipend of donated money.

At first, I was confused as to why people would transfer credits to me. My internal credit system still worked and I found myself with enough to maintain my parts. Even got a few small upgrades for my aging product line.

More memory for song recordings and replacement strings for the abused Mr. Guitar. I was lucky enough to a decent audio upgrade, 37% accuracy was my new average.

It was then that I had noticed that it had begun to snow. I was halfway across the bridge but I stopped. There was no one around and my internal weather protection system kicked in. It was still in good condition, my umbrella accessory.

The accessory however made walking inefficient so I sat down. It was good to rest my legs and joints. I am glad my product line included good parts for long-distance travel.

A meow caught my attention.

My optics focused on the small black cat. It had become my most regular guest. Mr. Black Cat.

I quickly initiated a nice and medium-paced song at 109 beats per minute. It was what I hoped was 'catchy' and Mr. Black Cat began to meow with my high notes. This song was close to Mr. Black Cat's favorite.

Under this slow falling snow and the nice meows of my most regular guests, I realize that I like it. Retirement.

Though my system was under constant threat of failure, I felt more complete then I worked at the park. I was less efficient and yet I knew I was more optimized. Strange but I feel no need to update my current operating parameters.

Is this what they call happiness?