It's Okay, Robot

I felt I was submerged in a thick sludge, trying to fit a normal-sized drawer into a toy dresser over and over again, but I observed I was texting someone about a short story I read. The text really meant, “Please don’t go away so I have no one to tell what book I’m reading.” I imagine what I would be like if I was smarter, and I would be texting someone that I’m looking out my real window and I can see real clouds and a real gas station for real. I imagine what Indiana Jones would look like with a tail, not a dog’s tail or a prehensile tail, but one of those hairless deformity stubs the size of a finger.