“The truth is,” he said, “the truth is, I hate robots.” His breath reeked of the gin that sloshed over the edge of his glass.

“You know what I hate?” he asked.

“Robots?” I said.

“Robots,” he said. “Damn things take jobs away from hard-working people… I pay my taxes you know!”

“So do robots,” I pointed out.

He banged his glass on the counter. “S’not the same! They got no mouths to feed, what do they do with all that money?”

“Pay rent?” I said.

“Closets!” he shouted. “Stick a robot in a damn closet and it’s happy. What’s a closet cost, eh? How’s that help the economy?”

“What about mechanics?” I asked. “Repairs aren’t free.”

“Damn robots go to robot mechanics.” He swigged some gin. “Forget us what made them.”

“I hear some robots hang out at bars,” I said.

He stopped and glanced around the room. “You think?” he asked.

“I know.” I slowly spun my head in a complete circle.

I’d have a stiff rotor in the morning, but it was worth it to watch the guy drop his drink and bolt. Humans. Just typical.