The Memory Librarian and Other Stories of Dirty Computer

by Janelle Monáe

“I like when my music starts trouble.”

Blushounds worked for other morally ambiguous people as well, which made this even trickier. If they were involved here, though, Jane was pretty certain they were using their “talents” for New Dawn. Their greatest tool was a twisted form of empathy, quite literally. They had the ability to sense—to “sniff”—emotions left by people. Negative emotions were easiest for them to track, but trained blushounds knew how to track any emotional traces left behind on cloth or in rooms. That, and the way that using this skill caused a brilliant, almost glowing blush and heat across their skin, had given them their name.

But my father has been sick forever. It’s just all this stuff around the sickness that makes it harder. I hate visiting hours. I hate being told that a doctor is going to come talk to you and answer a question, and sitting around for infinity waiting for dude to show up, only for him to bounce thirty seconds later. I hate the building. I hate parking hella far from the entrance and then rushing to get to the whatever-the-fuck pavilion and taking the third elevator down the blahzay-blah memorial corridor and by the time you get there . . .” She exhaled heavily. “I just hate it.”