Trica and Jeremy, when it began

One woman, a man, and one too many sentient

Given my abilities, one might think I have it easy. Yes, sentience has its usefulness. I can convince or steal–although, is it truly a crime when people insist on handing me things?–my way into almost any situation.

Barely a week in the city and I’ve run into Jeremy five times already. Someone somewhere is trying to tell me something. I blame my friend Anton. She’s the one who donated two of my paintings for the auction. She’s the one who dragged me to Max’s barbecue. She’s the one with the damn white car. Tingles during kisses should be outlawed. The elusive Jeremy Mac menaces to my peace of mind. How am I supposed to trust him when I can’t read a single one of his thoughts?

I’ve met the strangest soul at City Hall. A sentient like me who refers to himself as the disciple. “I am, therefore, I can.” Well, not if I can stop you, sicko. Plane rides excluded, nothing and nobody scare me but frightened I am now. Amongst the hundreds who attended the art auction, I hunt the weirdo, with or without Jeremy’s help. I hatch up a simple plan: bring him to the cops or bring the cops to him. Why did I volunteer again?

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