by Sly Squirrel
©2003 Sly Squirrel -- all rights reserved
"I'm still not sure if I get it," my wife mumbled. I wasn't sure if she ever got anything, nowadays. She just didn't keep up with the times like I did. Onlookers in the mall saved the most stupefied looks for our tiny, brightly-painted kiosk. If it weren't for the glass cocoons and nutrient pumps we could almost pass for an eccentric import shop. Just maybe.
"Recreational body-changes are the next big thing," I insisted. "I can feel it. People will flock to us for a little variety in their life. We'll make it simple for them; all they have to do is walk up and pick their change from a little book."
"Why couldn't we just airbrush shirts for a living?"
"I can change someone for less than the cost of your paint," I replied, grinning. "Just think of it as a tattoo."
"A tattoo." She put a hand on her hip.
"Yes: a gigantic, life-changing tattoo. Only these can be changed at will. Throwaway bodies; get tired of yours, step into the skin of another. It'll be a hit!"