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by F. John Sharp

I have downloaded every song created by mankind, including tribal chants, medieval hymns, and the Hanson brothers, onto my iPhone482, where it uses up only a third of the available memory. iTunes tells me it would take 1,021 years to listen to it all, which is a problem considering we’ve only managed to extend the average lifespan to 91. But our hard drives are amazing.

Some time ago, number-crunchers predicted we would run out of original tunes by 2447, but then two prolific songwriters died too-young in separate lightning strikes and here we are.

In an underground bunker beneath the Smithsonian, the world’s most powerful super computer, which fits in a business envelope, labors day and night to discover just one last original tune. Meanwhile, a guy with a guitar sits under a tree on the Mall, strumming.

F. John Sharp lives and works in Kent, Ohio, and thereabouts. He is the fiction editor for Right Hand Pointing, and his work may be found at FJohnSharp.com.