It was the severed finger on her shoulder.

The 0s and 1s blinked patiently. Or at least in the pretense of patience. It knew humans blink when they are nervous, and computed, ‘how endearing’.

There’s nothing as placid as a machine. But can a machine be duplicitous, mischievous?

A scene of city life rolled off across the screen, amusingly beautiful, almost a moving artwork. The greys merged into the greens, like an egg mix being beaten into flour.

And she knew. She’d changed somewhere along the road, she wasn’t the woman he fell in love with. There was no hiding it - in his heart, he knew it too.

That disembodied digit, it was a form of déjà vu, but who can tell what is real or not now?

The city is now quietly recycling life, and someone will be sure to love it as the machine locked down the code.

Try and sleep tight.