The Life and Times of Johnny Plotpoint

"No. That's the point, Johnny. You've never had your own story before. You've never been the main character, so you've never had to act like a main character. You've never had to think, you've never had to make a decision or puzzle out what to do. You've never had a job, never had to worry about stuff like eating, fixing your bike - nothing. That's probably why it felt so weird when you came in here and Therese started asking you questions about what you wanted to eat."

"But if that's true, how did I get here?" Johnny took a hit off his cigarette and tapped it in the ashtray.

Lane put a hand on the top of his computer. "Like Sam, you're in here. I'd been tinkering around with it since I retired - trying to put the pieces together. Some part of you has existed in this world since at least 1953, but only for short periods of time. It took me a while, but I finally figured it out. I wrote your story." He took a cigarette from Johnny's pack and lit it. "When a writer writes a story and the characters do what they're going to do, they come alive. You have a hard time controlling them, and sometimes you have to just let them go. At that point, in the writer's head, they take on a personality of their own, and he knows, in any situation, what they're going to do. The more he writes that character, the more alive they become."

Johnny looked at Lane. He looked old and tired. A little green light blinked on his computer just above the power switch. "So that's where I live? In your computer?"

"Yes. Maybe. I think so." He tapped his cigarette in the ashtray and looked up at Johnny. "You're here." He looked around the coffee shop. "And you're here." He placed his hand on the top of the computer.

"What now?" Johnny asked. His cigarette had burnt down almost to the filter. He took one last hit and looked up at Lane.

"That's up to you, I think." He watched as smoke trailed up around Johnny's fingers. The ash on the end was still glowing, but it was down to the filter. He looked Johnny square in the eye and slid the computer across the table. "I don't know what's going to happen to you, Johnny. I would like to say you'll be able to walk out of here and ride down the road, but I can't say for sure." He took another hit from his cigarette and tapped it in the ashtray. "I brought you here so I could say thanks." He put a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Whatever else happens is up to you now." He got up and walked away, not looking back.

Johnny smiled. He felt good - almost happy. He snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray and watched it until it stopped smoking.

The little green light on the computer winked at him like a heartbeat. He took a deep breath and reached for the power switch. He was scared. For the first time in his life, he was scared.