A Godzilla

Steve would compare just about everything to a Godzilla.

That violent thunderstorm last night was a Godzilla.

Traffic this morning was a Godzilla.

The recent outbreak of bird flu was a Godzilla.

The death of his father last year was a Godzilla.

I understood what he was going for. All these events, to varying degrees, were sudden, violent interruptions to the natural flow of life and possessed profound destructive potential, even if the destruction was confined to one’s psyche or the efficiency of one’s daily commute.

So when the AI company you’ve all heard of turned on their giant mechanical AI-powered lizard bot, claiming that it would “clean up the oceans and the sky,” and instead of cleaning up the oceans and the sky, it proceeded to stomp the fuck out of Poughkeepsie, I waited with bated breath to see how Steve would describe the giant mechanical AI-powered lizard bot’s path of destruction.

“What do you make of what’s going on in Poughkeepsie?” I asked Steve over scones two days after the rampage. “Or I guess what went on in Poughkeepsie. Because Poughkeepsie? Poughkeepsie’s been trampled, yo.”

My face reddened. Why had I phrased it like that? The yo had just come out. The yo had shown up without warning. The yo had mushed up my insides real good.

“I don’t know why I said it like that,” I said. “That yo was a Godzilla.”

Steve looked at me with sad eyes.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” Steve said.

“What?”

“You’ve been comparing things to a Godzilla a lot lately.”

“No, that’s you,” I said, shaking my head. “I just said it because you’ve been saying it so much.”

Steve sighed.

“Don’t,” said Steve. “Please don’t. This is hard enough.”

“What’s hard enough?” I said.

Steve motioned to the barista, who put down her newspaper and walked over to our table.

“It’s happening,” said Steve. “Right now.”

“Shit,” said the barista. The barista put her fingers into my mouth and pried open my jaws.

“I see it,” said Steve, peering inside. “I see it wriggling in there.” Steve held a gleaming tool, pushed it in, then pulled hard. The barista’s grip on my face was so strong, like nothing I’d ever felt before.