The writing said Sylvania at the end of the glowing tube above my head, a tube that was sucking the soul of out me. Octron, it was called, made in Mexico, probably manufactured beneath the same glowing tubes. There was a slight yellow tint to most of these soul-sucking abominations, though a few glowed almost purple and one of them was dark. I stared at them in revulsion. When I looked away, my eyes were filled with spots, spots that skewed the view of the glowing screen in front of me. Everything glowed, everything was artificial, even the afternoon fatigue that had routinely overcome me, the result of hours beneath those tubes and in front of that screen.
I'm leaving for Paris on Thursday to reclaim some of my soul. If only I could go to sleep and wake up Friday in Montmartre.
