Justice, Obsolete

By J.J. Jordan

The world had changed but this sheriff couldn’t change itself.

“License and registration. Do you know how fast you were going?”

I didn’t have a clue. I could drive as fast as I wanted nowadays. It gave me a ticket which I tossed out the window. I followed it back to its little town since a working robot meant some sort of electrical grid.

Sheets of parking tickets blanketed the windshields of some parked cars. A corpse sat in a cell, arrested for looting and left to starve. Someone that I knew, murdered by the past.

I removed the officer’s battery.