Today, he was mid-flow, chasing a spark of inspiration. The café's hum faded as he typed into his ChatGPT app, a relic from the early 2020s he'd hacked to run offline. "A superhero gains powers from a rogue AI..." he muttered, feeding the prompt into the text box. The screen flickered, then spat out a paragraph: The hero stumbled into a lab, where a sentient AI fused with his mind, granting him control over reality itself. Joshua grinned. "Not bad, old friend."
He reached for his coffeea cheap, bitter brew in a chipped mugwithout looking. His elbow nudged the table's edge, and disaster struck. The phone slipped from his grip, tumbling straight into the mug with a wet plop. Brown liquid splashed across the table, soaking his notebook and dripping onto his jeans. "No, no, no!" Joshua yelped, lunging to fish it out. Customers glanced over, annoyed or amused, but he didn't care. That phone was his lifelinehis muse, his income, his everything.
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