You sit and cradle your pint of lemonade, leaning your good ear over the table to listen to Jim over the hubbub of the psychic bar as he recounts his latest success of getting Molly and Jasper to eat their greens. It’s the first time you’ve been in one for years, and there’s a part of you that still cringes from the drunken barks of laughter and the fermented thoughts pooling at the table legs. But it’s also the first time you’ve seen Jim since the Summer, and you wanted to have a night out with him while you’re briefly in the city.

You laugh genuinely when Jim mimes using a piece of broccoli as a toothbrush, then watch as he shakes his head and takes a sip of his Coma Cola, which he changed his beer with when he remembered you didn’t drink. “So, freelancing? Must be pretty exciting.”

“Exciting and terrifying,” you explain, “every week I get to gamble whether I’ll get a paycheck or not. But it’s a good way to make some contacts while I explore some more long-term options.”

“Well, I’d offer you a job with us again, but I know how you’d respond to that.”

You grin. “You think I’d want to work with you again after our second-year project?”

“The bug was caused by a zero-width space character!” exclaims Jim. “It was literally invisible!”

The two of you laugh, the atmosphere light and easy despite the topic. The truth is you have found the last few weeks difficult, but you’re determined to leave the worrying for the morning.

Something must show on your face though because Jim suddenly asks, “Are you going to be okay, Leif? I mean, genuinely.”

You open your mouth, but something about his concern for you makes you discard your first thought of replying with a joke. So instead you ponder. “I don’t know,” you reply honestly. “But leaving Museford was the right first step. I guess I’ll just keep trying to make those until I end up in a place I’m happy with.” You’re not just talking about your job.

Jim nods slowly, and you wonder if perhaps he understands too. “Well, if you ever need help with those steps, you’ve got people who care about you.” He smiles. You return it, knowing it’s the truth. “Now tell me how you broke up with that guy,” grins Jim. “Were there tears? Was it messy?”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey Leif? Do you have a moment?” comes the thick Californian twang of your colleague as they peer over your stall.

“Sure Rosa, what’s up?”

“There’s a person waiting in the lobby asking about you. Said their name is Storm. Also said something about squirrels?”

You grin and take the lift down to meet them. Storm is wearing sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt and swimming shorts, even though you’re half a state away from the Pacific. They bound up to you and wrap you in a tight hug as you step out of the lift, and you hug them back, not even minding the brim of the straw hat they wear pressing uncomfortable into your neck. It’s the first time they’ve been able to make it to the States, and you’re eager to show them around.

The BiteShield office is hardly big, taking up just half a floor of this block with coloured cubicles of three to four desks, whiteboard walls, beanbags, and two dozen computers, but you prefer it this size. You take Storm around the office, introducing them to your colleagues, including the three other members of your team in your shared cubicle, who are delighted to finally meet Storm. You explain to her that you were given the lead on introducing anti-tracking software to BiteShield’s anti-viral packages, to which Storm nods enthusiastically, commenting that it’s like an invisibility cloak for your computer. You also show off your 10-year chip you’ve hung above your monitor, which Storm livestreamed in to see you get.

You take Storm out to a local pizzeria for dinner, listening enraptured as Storm recounts the goings-on in Museford, how Mayor Mort has won their second term, how the Company Company hasn’t tried to expand in Museford since, how the pigeon unionisation effort is going, so on and so forth. At one point they lean over the table and whisper conspiratorially about how ‘the bots’ are going. You smile and whisper back, sotto, that the bots have been put on standby, safely stored in a hard drive you keep on your person. Companies have grown smarter, reducing their digital footprints as much as possible, but so have your bots. And if ever a company tries to get away with brushing something under the rug, they’re waiting, ready to bring all that dirt out into the open.

Sometimes it’s the little things, and the little people, that make all the difference.