Milt began humming. Soon, Pinky recognized the song as “She’s Always a Woman,” by Billy Joel. She started to hum along with him.
“I love that song!” Pinky shouted. Of course, Milt was not surprised. Sometimes it described her to a tee.
“Okay, so, since we’ve got at least twenty minutes, tell me, what are some of your theories on what I’m doing here?”
“About the boy? He’s a grandson or a great grandson. You’ve discovered that someone will carry on your line of DNA. He kind of looked like you. I still think you broke some rules. Here’s my other theory. He will one day be a future president that will heal this big rift in the country… though I don’t see how you would know anything of the future beyond 2047, unless you secretly traveled ahead while I was reading about the latest breakthroughs in insect-style body modification.” She said this sardonically. “But here’s something else that was interesting. It may be even better than Tomas’ method of creating art. You sit in front of a screen, turn on a sensor, it scans your face, and produces artwork to reflect your mood and state of mind. Not that I want anything to do with such a mockery of creativity, I just wonder, is it producing artwork that has already been created? Are they recycling classic art? Who really creates the art? Someone must! And it just reduces an artist’s work to computer science, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Although, maybe they have actual artists on hand who produce, or have produced these great works. I mean, I might like that job. If, I get to sign my name in the corner.”