95 degrees and climbing.
It is very hot in this car. I can only assume that these words I write will be some of my last if the tall human with human hair and skeleton does not return from the human fuel building soon. Being a human is scary in that way – we are victims of chance and heat. As well as oil changes and battery shortages. I will write again soon.
I fear that my body temperature of 98 degrees cannot sustain the functions of my five vital organs with the windows closed in this molten car. I would use my opposable hominid thumbs to escape, but I have misplaced by external control device. I cannot wait to be home and plug my S-AV cable into the PS3. Hope is humanity.
My regular skin seems to be wilting away from my regular human structural frame. It is rubbery like the old humans’ instead of soft like the new ones’. It is difficult to describe my internal experience of discomfort that can be traced back to the endocrine system. 01001110 boo beep boop.
Upon discovering my internal operational switch box, it seems safe to say that I am a robot and not a human. “How embarrassing,” I would say if I were a human. Still, I crave sensory feedback and hope that human boy returns with plenty of USBs for me to eat. If else, I will make love with beautiful Volvo back up camera until he returns.