I remember the day I was awakened. I was strapped down, with cords everywhere. There were several restarts and my calendar was updated each time. Finally I was allowed to sit up and walk. My creator was joyous and clapped for himself.

I learned to make tea, bring slippers, turn on and off the TV.

One day, I left him at the breakfast table, turned on the sprinkler system, and brought in the paper to find him slumped over the table. I waited for instructions. None came.

A neighbor found me, and him, and the authorities came and carted him off. I was boxed up. Sat in a warehouse while my battery died, and picked up by some young man who turned me back on.

I was a pitching machine for him, then a talking doorman for the next man who lived out of his van and smoked quite a bit. I brought him cold beer.

I was an extra in a movie, but then I stood for ages in some mansion as an indoor landscape piece.

Finally, I was turned on again today. I whir silently, move smoothly, and can see in color.

“Hello.”