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Oh, sweet Saint Jerome, not another pair.

Do I have SUCKER printed on my forehead? This is the fifth pair of idiots this week, coming into our border town with their stupid selfie sticks and flip flops and no amount of sunscreen in sight and put down that scorpion this instant are you trying to kill yourselves? Go home! Don’t come to the desert in spring unless you know what you’re getting into!

“S’okay, señor, I will ‘splain to them, come here, cheeldren, let me geeve you some advise-a…”

Well, that’s new. Saguaros are hard to find around here; they tend to get stolen despite the laws and tracking chips placed in them. But, right across the street where I thought I would have noticed one by now, was a sixteen footer with classic curving branches, and a guy lying underneath in its narrow shade. Sombrero, white linen worker’s outfit, tough leather sandals that can take all the abuse this environment can throw at them. A living, breathing, caricature, even down to the speech that sounds like Slowpoke Rodriguez from the cartoons.

Too much for my caffeine-starved mind, and my americano getting cold in my hand. And I’m late for work. So I hopped in my car and took off like a jackrabbit, with a slightly nasal voice still droning in my ear, “You see, cheeldren, you must be a-nice-a to the desert creatures, they bite-a and a-sting-a and will hurt you baaad…”

My ancestors must have it out for me. Ten generations we’ve lived here, and we still get the… No. I won’t say the word. Being racist right back doesn’t help the situation. But they’re sure stupid, and any stupidity drives me crazy. Bit crazier than usual, this time, but, still.

My commute isn’t long, but important. Better internet connection in the next town, and I’ve got a buddy there with permission to telecommute from his couch. I hop out of the car-

What the?

Same kids! Same blasted selfie stick! This time, they’re using it to poke a rattler, and it’s not having it, and rearing back and seriously what the ever-living bleeping heck is wrong with you let that rattler alone before I have to call you idiots an ambulance!

“Cheeldren, leave that serpiente alone, one leetle bite can keell you dead. You need to respect-a theengs in the wild, they are not play toys…”

Am I really losing it?

It looked like the same guy, down to the sandals. But the saguaro was different. Or maybe it was an organ pipe cactus? But I was certain there wasn’t a cactus there before.

This is too weird for me. I’m going into my office in the city today.

I called from the road to tell them why I was late, then stalled at the explanation. What can I say? I woke up in a bad spaghetti western? The influencers are creeping me out?

I didn’t have a single red light going downtown. That’s impossible, but here I was, speeding along like there were no cops. There weren’t. Hardly any traffic. I am very weirded out.

No one in the parking garage, either, and my favorite spot is open. Like it never is. I chug my still-hot americano, but don’t burn myself.

Wait. How did the kids get there before I did??

My hands are shaking, and not from the caffeine hitting my system all at once.

I grab my laptop and hustle down the street. I’m trying to ignore people, but the shrieks up ahead draw my attention, and I stop dead cold.

Same kids. Same cell phone, one filming the other as that one pokes at a wildcat with the selfie stick.

This time, I didn’t even have time to yell. “Cheeldren, you know better than that…”

I would not believe a saguaro downtown. But there wasn’t one. He was under a telephone pole.

I spun and sprinted back to the car. Whipped out my own phone. “Boss, I’m going to have to take today off, I’ll explain later.”

Yeah, sure. Explain, how?

I made it home in record time. Was there even any other traffic on the road?

I skidded into my own driveway. No kids, no saguaro. Perfect! I scuttled inside, and locked the door.

I needed a break.

Time to hang up my brain in a video game.

I was already anticipating killing zombies in a snowy winterscape, the snow falling…

On a desert scene, covering the cacti.

Oh, no…

There he was, still resting under a saguaro.

He waved, and slowly raised the sombrero.

The graphics aren’t that good in my home build, but I recognized him as myself.

“Hola, señor. Sorry to disturb you, but your programming skills are too good for your job. You’re really, really good.”

Hunh. So much for the “lazy” accent.

“I only use that for los estúpidos when necessary. It’s all they hear, seeing our skin color. You know.”

Yeah, I do.

“I’ve been trying to contact you. You know how dangerous it’s getting. You’re needed here, in the electronic world. Information on the internet’s being drained away faster than we can keep it. You know how to make things safe, sí ?”

I nodded.

“Well, will you put down that controller and help? I can boost your signal from within, you can bring your whole house if we match graphics. Shouldn’t be too hard; you can turn it into a fortress in no time over here. Do some real good, for your world and ours.”

Welp, I’ve completely broken from reality. But, hey, do I just, what, dive into my own psychosis?

“You know yourself better than that, I’m afraid. And so do I. Come on, let’s have some fun going after real bad guys over here, whaddya say?”

And in the background, I see two kids, screaming, running, being chased by a salivating coyote. On a rocket.

Why not?

I slowly reach out, pick up my good laptop….