I wonder who designs the ones like me… and what choices we really have, and which ones we just think we have. I wondered if I had really loved her. I wondered which of my memories were real and which belonged to someone else. The great Tyrell hadn’t designed me, but whoever had hadn’t done so much better. “You’re programmed, too,” she told me, and she was right.
-Deckard’s closing monologue, Blade Runner [Hampton Fancher’s final draft of December 15th, 1979]"
Reblogged from white-space-conflict
Internet date with a woman that looked like U2 cover art last night. Knew I was out of my league in the first few minutes so fuck it, nothing to lose, right? Pulled some false charisma out of my ass and charted our progress towards one another over four, five, however many drinks. Made out at the taxi tank before I sent her on her way. Muscular. Our both squeezing each others’ forearms after the first awkward kiss. Strength in her fingers.