Saturday's Storyteller: "There is no free will."
by Belinda Roddie "There is no free will," said the city man with stubble and a popped up shirt collar. "There are only shirts, and small rooms with white walls, and societal influences beyond your control." "Clearly," replied the writer with a forkful of cheesecake, "you don't know what the fuck free will is." Outside, Armageddon was blooming like a coked out flower doing one last crash binge before the end. And in the world of San Francisco, syringes formed faces and kissed on the shit-covered asphalt. And before you knew, there was a second Pride, and rainbows formed to cover the cracks and scars of the abandoned storefronts and skyscrapers. And all was well, after all - because we couldn't control Doomsday, no matter how hard we tried. Except for the city man. He went to sleep full knowing that he was an automaton - because he hadn't been able to buy the cake he wanted at the local grocery store, and beforehis date, he had