Although I look normal, with eyeballs and skin big bushy eyebrows, a lumpy old chin, stubby, short fingers, a ludicrous grin, hair which is boisterous, curly and thin, I’m actually a robot. Yes, I agree, it’s unusual to see someone looking so normal and sipping iced tea when they’re actually metal and battery powered, someone whose circuit board’s never been showered. It’s hard being a robot. I look like a human but sound like a car which is rusty and old and has driven too far. My ironwork’s cumbersome, clunky and slow, and everyone hears me wherever I go – it’s loud being a robot. I want to be subtle, I want to fit in, but that cannot happen when, under my skin, there are motors and pistons and grippers and gears all put together by six engineers. It’s lonely being a robot. Despite being built with a bulletproof shell (although I must say that I hide it quite well), inside I am squishy like jelly ice cream and when it is nighttime, I nod off and dream of not being a robot.