Coming soon…

I was laid out on the cobbles just after midnight on December 1. Someone had opened a door in my head for Advent. Only the paramedics got a peek. I was out for the count, nothing in the way of signs of life. Three on the Glasgow Coma Scale: no speech, no movement, no eye response. Minimum score, but full marks for attendance.

It makes sense that Glasgow gave the world the coma scale. I love the city, and its Institute of Neurological Sciences is a fine establishment, but if a Glasgow were a unit of measurement, it would be the shortest distance between a swagger and a stretcher.

Yes, as far as the children of the algorithm were concerned, I had been unalived: given the forever 404, logged out of my meat app. The dead, apparently, now have a harder time passing online moderation than paedophiles.