Traffick Boss (to hyperprison): “Uhhhh … Hyperprison … could you make some bars for me to hold and look forlornly out of?”

The walls ripple a little and everybody looks at Wealthy Investor and Assistant.

Dictator of Dictatortopia: “He’s totally trying to escape again.”

Traffick Boss: “Cross my heart!”

Traffick Boss holds his cigar on his chest.

Some exotic matter leaves a wall and enters Traffick Boss’s brain to probe his plans. He has seizures briefly. It leaves and then produces prison bars for him to hold and look forlornly out of.

Traffick Boss: “Thank you.”

Traffick Boss approaches the prison bars, holds them, and looks through them forlornly.

— 2015

We now attempt a second time to make AI art of somebody looking through bars. Maybe I can try the new stable diffusion.

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