Jerry sat in his on the deck overlooking the lake and lit a cigarette. Have to remember to pick up some more, he thought. The air was crisp. It felt like fall was coming earlier this year, so he'd need to pick up the pace.
He faced the water, the mountains, the sky. Taking it all in, but not really seeing it. The Valley was as quiet as ever. Eventually, as always, his thoughts turned to days gone by. He wondered if he had made good choices, if maybe things could have been different.
He took a sip of his last remaining bottle of scotch whiskey from the tin can he used as a cup. He thought how nice it would be to have more of it. Maybe some friends would drop by with a bottle, like the old days. Or maybe his grandchildren would stop in, Lord knows his children wouldn't.
Things were different now. There was a time when the world turned around him, when he was respected and feared. Now it seemed to be doing just fine without him. There was a time that would have angered him, and he'd have come out fighting and pushing and yelling and making sure the world knew damn well that he was there. But he was different now.
There was a distant sound of tires coming down the road to the cabin, and he looked up. No, nothing. Just the trick of the mind of an old man.
Then, like always, Jerry remembered that there was nothing left outside of the valley, not since he'd started the robot plague. The robots had destroyed all humanity, but had left Jerry in his valley out of respect for their creator, their God.
Jerry frowned, but tears did not come. They never did anymore. He stood up, crushed his cigarette under his sandles, and went back into his cabin.
I can still get through this, he thought, as long as I have my sex robot.
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