I.

Jesse Flores, scheduled for death at 3:15pm HST, has just felt anxiety for the first time in his life. He's 26 years old. The fact that he’s meant to die soon isn’t the reason for the new emotion. He doesn’t know what “EVICTION” really means yet, after all, even though he’s heard the word for most of his life. He can see it now, written on the digital surface of his censor’s wide, warm, rounded desk- scrawled upside down and in a messy personal script, but plain as day. That’s the thing that sets his heart tripping off into unknown territory.

As far as he knows, that word means he’s failed. He’s never failed before.

She has a pet on her lap. It’s a pre-Haven breed of dog called a chihuahua, a thing with round dark eyes and a head shaped like an apple. It's a puppy, physically, although it isn't in linear years. Cute and fragile, and (he’s sure) more expensive than anything he owns.

He's been too quiet, maybe. Lost in thought. As his censor looks up from her notes, she catches his attention linger on the dog.

CENSOR

Do you have one?

Her eyebrow is quirked slightly, curious.

JESSE

Sorry- no, I don't. They're nice, though.

He can't think of anything to say. The dog is staring off behind his shoulder, entirely uninterested.

CENSOR

Oh. It's your partner that has one, right? I think I saw that earlier. It's hard to keep things straight sometimes, lots to know.

(She gestures at the desk and all the many little intrusive windows laid out across it. Jesse’s face, his boyfriend’s face, something medical, his arm.)

JESSE

He does, yeah. A big one.

(He shifts in his seat.)

Does yours know any tricks yet?

CENSOR

Oh, not really. The basics, I think? Puppy stuff. Like- Sandy. Sandy.

She holds SANDY up without supporting her hind legs. SANDY looks at Jesse lethargically.

Sandy, can you give paw?

(SANDY doesn't. Her shoulders are being held too high to do much of anything even if she wanted to.)

She was a gift. I’ve only had her for a year now. She’s 24, so–

JESSE

Early days, yeah.

CENSOR

One of the earliest, but she’s still going strong, so I don’t really see a need to change anything, you know? Her indiosyncrasies make her even cuter. What’s yours named?

JESSE

Prince.

Sandy is back in her lap, curled into a pile of sleek fur. The censor taps two fingers together in thought, looking down at her desk. She slides a finger across the far right corner of the desk's display.

CENSOR

Show us ‘Prince’.

A dozen overlapping tabs appear, then a dozen more. They overlap and adjust to accommodate each other until the entire display is covered in images of Prince. Jesse hears snippets– his own voice, and Leo’s. Prince, Prince, Prince. They intrude on each other in the same way as the images do.

She taps one.

CENSOR

Oh, stop, he’s so cute. A doodle?

JESSE

A labradoodle.

CENSOR

That’s the dog.

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