His amigos have been bustling lately. They [think] they are surreptitiously formulating these grand schemes, but their mouths drool with guilt with every lie they spew; twitching more than ever, chips hasting on overdrive - the way Jesús gets before a big augmentation. My cuñado has a tap into Jesús’ chip. They have gotten wind of a possible escape. The men try concealing this truth from me as they are well aware of my wretched despise over him. Their wives aren’t leashed to the home like me; who is anymore? The other women of the barrio practice their PhD’s and Doctorates. But their husbands aren’t despondent slaves to the Plateau. The thought alone of his return churns my insides, fired up with fury and fear. I fear when he returns he will be worse off than when he left; more so in the Plateau than he ever was. Distant, lost, and dangerous. The children have even stopped asking for him, realizing too that their padre is a stranger in his own right; a robot who only returns home for a chip update or upgrade. If I have any say in the matter, Jesús will soon have no one to return “home” to.