"Get a good education so you can get a good job,” said her mother.
"Never date a man who can't give you his phone number. He might be married,” said her best friend.
"Take the core classes first and then the electives,” said her academic advisor.
Chloe shook her head. She had no taste for the blue pill, but everyone thought it was their business to try jamming it down her throat—even inanimate talking machines. She went three blocks and turned left. The machine adjusted to her new position. "Go one block and turn left.”
"Oh shut up.”
Downtown Los Angeles didn't offer too many scenic routes, but she could smell the pizza that boasted of being made with New York City tap water wafting down 6th-Street—a street she wasn't supposed to be on. It wasn't on the itinerary mapped out by the global satellite. She savored the smell and didn't care. She crossed Broadway and hooked a left on Los Angeles. A Greyhound bus nearly swiped her on its way to its terminal. Okay, time to pay attention, she thought. Look out for pedestrians. Look out for other cars. Look out for traffic lights, stop signs, and don't miss her turn-off. So much energy expended just to get to school. And the reward, her mother assured her, would be a job working for someone else. Some ache inside told Chloe she was born for more. None of her advisors had a clue about what was going on inside her. Everyone wanted to play it safe. Whatever happened to the "Give me liberty or give me death” mentality? Chloe didn't know anyone like that. She knew only the common sense folks. She knew only this centrifugal directive away from her center—away from her dreams.
