Main Street

Main Street
I enter into a barber shop in desperate need of a haircut.
Something respectable that doesn’t make it look like I stared in a video of smut.
I’m greeted with a monotone hello and told to take a seat in the chair of my preference.
The good thing about this place it they don’t expect your tips to be very generous.

I take a seat in a rather uncomfortable chair as a “man” approaches me from behind.
His mechanical arms place a cover over me as he asks me what style of cut I have in mind.
I tell “him” a standard buzz cut will do just fine.
“He” tells me it’s a simple style you will not decline.

He begins the process of buzzing my head as I stare at him through the mirror in front of me.
Artificial skin covers his face but the rest of “him” is exposed and that brings me no glee.
Machinery have taken away so many jobs from humans it makes me fucking sick.
So many people are unemployed and struggling to survive, including my best friend Nick.
We were promised a better future for mankind with the addition of robots to help aid us in every day jobs,
but all they have done is leave families broken, suicide rates sky rocketing and millions of people homeless with nothing but their sobs.
This is the barber shop on the main street of my home town now, controlled and ran by robots,
      always giving precise, perfect cuts.
They are flawless at everything they do; human error has been completely eradicated.
Technology has advanced to the detriment of the human species.
You may be able to medically eliminate diabetes,
but the heart and soul of the human race has been eliminated as well.
Isn’t that shit just swell?

I fear a war is brewing about to be activated.
A war between man and machine for the survival of the human race.
The war about to break out will be called helter skelter
since ninety percent of the human population of the town is now homeless living on the streets or in shelters.

With the hair cut now over I bring my mind back to the present and pay the robot for “his” services.
“He” takes my money and thanks me for my business rather purposeless.
I crack a joke and tell him not to spend it all in one place
as “he” just stares back at me with no emotion on his face.

I exit the shop to find a homeless man playing his guitar and singing trying to earn a few nickels.
I clap for him and ask him now he’s doing trying to be civil,
then throw a few bucks in his hat to help him out.
He’s having a rough go of life right now, there is no doubt.

He thanks me for my generosity and tells me it’s difficult to make any money playing real music anymore since robots like computer made music and humans are all poor.
He tells me he would be better off being a raconteur
but will continue playing until his fingers are sore
because they is nothing he loves more than singing about delusions of grandeur.

I shake the man’s hand and wish him a good day
As a police officer rolls up to him with a message to convey.
He tells the man to pack up his belongings and move along
despite playing on the street to earn a few bucks is not being in the wrong.
The man ignores the “cop” and goes back to playing angering the piece of shit machine even more.
The kindness of human cops is a thing of the past and now only living on in folklore.
The “cop” once again tells him to pack up and move.
The man is jamming out and playing his guitar amazingly having found is groove.
The robot takes out a baton and presses it against his face once again ordering him to get up and move out of sight or suffer the consequences of not listening to a cop’s order.
 I take out my cell phone and hit the recorder.
I’m going to make sure to capture all of this abuse on tape.
Being beaten and harassed by a piece of machinery is honestly worse than rape.
The cop notices me watching and rolls up to me ordering me to move along.
I tell him to leave the man alone and that he is in the wrong
for bullying him to leave his spot on the sidewalk where he’s searching for help.
A blue light begins flashing on the officer’s head as he orders me to leave or be hauled away to jail.
Knowing I’m pressing my luck; I back off and walk away.
Although I want to act out, I know I must behave.
I look behind me and see the man packing up to get on the move as well.
Being free out on the streets still beats being locked up in a cold, dark cell.

I come upon a pharmacy and stop outside of it the gaze inside through its windows.
I press my face on the glass like some kind of fucking weirdo
Daydreaming of becoming someone’s little fucking hero.
It would be nice to do some good by winning the lotto but no matter how many times I try, I never win those.

Looking into the pharmacy makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I’m so disgusted by what I see it think I may actually need a puke bucket.
Robots run the place as sick humans beg and plead to get the medicine they desperately need.
One woman is trying to get her refill of birth control so she doesn’t have to be afraid to breed.
One man is sick and coughing all over the place and trying to get a prescription filled.
Another man is trying to get his heart medication filled, he’s fuming in anger and needs to chill.
The robots don’t respond well to pressure and don’t have any feelings to connect with the people in need.
They even refuse to sell legalized, medical quality weed.
Humans should be the ones helping other humans get the medications they need,
not some robots who have no idea what it means to suffer and bleed.
If a human even slightly raises their voice at them, they will threaten them with police brutality.
The creators of the robots write off the abuse to give us as just a formality.
They claim they don’t know better since they don’t have a real mentality.
This should be in violation of some form of legality.
At least they can’t feel any form of carnality.
The last thing we need is machine’s rapping humans becoming a normality.

Fearing of being caught starring into the pharmacy for too long,
I walk away acting level headed and strong.
It’s time I check in on my business to see how things are going today.
Business as usual I’m sure will be the message that is conveyed.

A short couple minute walk later I arrive at my restaurant, the last remaining one owned by a human.
Business has slightly slowed over the past few years but for the most part it’s still booming.
On the weekends, I still provide the public with live music.
The robots think the music is stupid
and find it rather confusing.
I just find their reactions amusing.
The cult following I’ve built up keeps the income flowing so at least I’m not losing.
From time to time I even jam out myself and play some tunes for my patrons on my acoustic.
It’s a nice place and keeps me in my home and off of the streets.
Hopefully I can keep the place afloat until I’m deceased.

I enter the restaurant to discover and “police officer” in the face of my manager.
The “officer” appears to be upsetting the restaurants peaceful atmosphere.
We are the wrong ones to fuck with for we are no amateurs.
I won’t tolerate for a second having to listen to this blasphemer.

I approach the “officer” and ask him what the problem is.
“He” turns around and tells me to mind my own business and stop interfering in his.
I explain to “him” that I am the owner and demand to know why “he” is there.
He quickly turns around to face me, I’m half expecting “him” to swear.
“He” tells me my establishment is an abomination and needs to be closed down.
“He” tells me his superiors are tired of my restaurant being the last remaining human owned one around.
“He” tells me I should pack up my belongings and leave town.
These fucking machines sure know how to act like clowns.

I tell the piece of useless machinery to fuck off and get out of my restaurant before shit gets ugly.
Some piece of machinery isn’t going to come in here and bully me.
A blue light starts flashing on “his” head as he demands me to put my hands in the air.
I tell “him” if he leaves now, “his” life will be spared.
The robot, now upset with me tells me he’s placing me under arrest for not complying with an officer’s order.
A gun shot rings out from around a corner.
The light in the eyes of the robot flash on and off a few times before permanently going off.
Needing to clear my throat, I let out a cough.
This is how we take care of problems with machinery in my business.
Taking out a cop like this is a dangerous decision,
but so far we have managed to cover it up well and get away with it.

I instruct my manager to dispose of the robot and hide the evidence of it being here.
If we want to continue surviving in this world, these are the risk we have to take.
We have to defend our turf from the machine invasion and refuse to give in to them.
I will hold this place until I’m shot up and dying on the floor puking up phlegm.