We sit in the park and have a picnic.
She isn’t happy with the video she is shooting, because it’s just the camera propped up in one position.
I offer to help her make her video.
I introduce her to my robots.
‘They look like smartphones to me’ Pia says.
‘They are robots’ I tell her. ‘They are very talented filmmakers and photographers…’

Please play the video. My robots worked very hard on it:

 

3 PM:

Cold day hitching in some nowhwere little town in Austria.

Blocks of flats, supermarket, discount fashion outlet stores.

 
Just as it starts to rain I finally get a ride all the way to the middle of Vienna.

Vienna is breathtaking. Major architecture. Major Parks. Plus it’s a beautiful sunny day.

 

I’m scooting around the city, checking out the architectural overkill, when I see a girl with a bike, making a video of herself twirling a hoop.
I roll over and say hi. She smiles, which is pretty unusual for a stranger in Austria. The tradition in Austria seems to be to frown vigorously at strangers.

Her name is Pia. We chat for a bit and she shows me around town a bit.
We sit in the park and have a picnic.
She isn’t happy with the video she is shooting, because it’s just the camera propped up in one position.
I offer to help her make her video.
I introduce her to my robots.
‘They look like smartphones to me’ Pia says.
‘They are robots’ I tell her. ‘They are very talented filmmakers and photographers’.

 

 

We spend the rest of the afternoon laughing, making videos, rolling around and acting like kids.

Pia tells me she wishes she could give me a warm bed for the night. I tell her I wish the same. She tells me her parents are not into having guests. I tell her I understand. We have to respect our family’s homes.

I ask her to have supper with me, a midnight picnic. She smiles.

 
We go to the steps of a palace, facing the park.
There is a magnificent circus, shining and singing in the park.
My robots make videos of Pia spinning and twirling and twerking with her hoop. The robots begin to act strangely.
‘The batteries are getting flat?’ Pia asks me.
I nod.
Actually, I know the truth; the robots are falling in love. They are losing their senses.

 

 

 

We walk up the hill, away from the touristic old city.
In the quiet lanes on the hillside we find a warm Mexican cafe with comfortable booths.

My robots flirt with Pia outrageously as we drink and smoke. They show off, and display the footage they captured of her, dancing and laughing.
I try to be cool, but the robots have no modesty.

At ten o’clock Pia drinks a hot chocolate and turns into a pumpkin.

 
I get on my scooter and roll through the empty streets of Vienna, to a little wood in a Parkland area on the edge of the city.

There are deer tripping through the undergrowth, and the ground is soft with leaf litter.

I pitch camp.

I eat supper alone.

 
‘Why did you act like such idiots in the cafe?’ I ask the robots. ‘She’s such a cool girl. She liked us, but you are such braggarts.’
They don’t reply. The robots are sleeping. Their batteries are drained.

I lie down to sleep too.
The camera in my mind plays images of dancing. A dancing Austrian. Dancing flowers. Dancing hoops. Dancing clowns. Dancing streets. Dancing robots.