The Bad Boy Computer Programmer At Wattpad

IAN'S APARTMENT (Part 1)

Turning back towards 2.0, Ian jerked the pitcher up to stop the flow of water. A mini lake formed around the base of 2.0's stem.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, his outburst a reaction to drowning his roommate and a problematic statistic invading his thoughts. So what are you going to do about the fact that barely half the world has internet access?

Ian sighed. It would be difficult to change the world with stories if only a portion the population could be reached. Looking over his shoulder at the Robin Williams quote on his corkboard, he thought, But even if we make a few people happier, it's still a win. Right?

3.0 sat on the floor next to a lighted glass case displaying a few prized pieces of Ian's Star Wars figurine collection. Space had always been Ian's favorite subject and stories about space a favorite escape for his mind. Star Wars. Battlestar Galactica. Aliens. Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Buck Rogers. Guardians of the Galaxy. There was something about the infinite nature of the night sky that called out to him. The universe was both calculable precision and an unfathomable mystery.

With an empty pitcher still in hand, Ian walked to his sliding glass door and stepped out onto a small balcony. He gazed up at the stars--or what was left of the stars when viewed through Toronto's light pollution--and pondered his place in the universe like many of his favorite sci-fi characters had done.

I'm a speck of dust living on a tiny rock called Earth, and Earth is nothing but a speck of dust in a giant solar system. Ian set the pitcher down and rested his arms on the railing. The solar system? It's a speck of dust in the Milky Way Galaxy, and the Milky Way Galaxy is nothing but a speck of dust in the Virgo Cluster. Virgo Supercluster? Just a speck of dust amongst a backdrop of millions of superclusters in the universe.

A strange sense of relief crashed through Ian as he embraced his insignificance in the grand scheme of reality. "You're a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck--and you want to control every single variable and uncertainty before taking a step forward. How thick can you be?"

"I'd guess ya real thick," a female voice purred.

Faster than lightspeed, Ian's thoughts returned from the depths of space to the present moment. Glancing to the right towards a bordering balcony, he saw his 60-something neighbor in a see-through nightgown seductively smoking her cigarette. Turning his focus to an empty space between the two balconies so his neighbor's private bits weren't burned into his memory, Ian said, "Evening, Celine."

Ian met his sultry neighbor around the time he moved into his apartment--roughly two years ago. Introducing herself as Celine Dijon, Ian wasn't sure how to process her. He often wondered if Celine Dijon was actually a fake name used to hide her real identity from someone or something. However, Celine's animal print leggings, sequined tops, brightly manicured toes in flip flops and neon feather boas suggested she had no intentions of staying under the radar.

Celine pulled her cigarette from her lips and nodded to the sky with her head. "Who ya talkin' to, darlin'?

"Just thinking," Ian replied, still staring at the empty space. "Out loud. To myself."

Throwing a silky leopard print robe over her sheer nightgown, Celine pointed to her apartment with the cigarette. "Come over 'n talk to Mama. I wanna know what'cha thinkin'."

Now that she was robed, Ian turned to her and smiled. "That's kind of you, but I--."

"I insist," Celine interrupted. "Ladies not comin' home with ya, darlin'. Mama wanna make sure ya--alright."

Oh, dear Christ. "Uh--." Ian desperately searched the files of his brain for a polite excuse to remove himself from the balcony and lockdown the apartment.