The Robot Searches For Its Head

Stepping across the city delicately on its legs of suspension springs, the robot searched for its head. The balls of its feet were old lost racquetballs; it had found its heart in the beating forgotten in a tomato soup can on a back shelf. Greenish-black clouds scudded across the moon. Dogs barked. But the streets lay empty as the robot felt automatically in the spaces behind fences for something to balance on his torso, something that would give him the power of logic his tomato soup heart dreamed of. When the sun came, he hid himself in a trashcan again.