Excerpt from My New Book Called "Sumire"

The following is an excerpt from the novel that I'm working on.  To give it a bit of context, it's set a few decades in the future.  There are public squares where people can go to mingle and get feedback on things like outfits, art, or anything that can be up or down voted (kind of like a real-life Reddit).  That's where my character, Sumire, is and she has been hit by a rare troll.

Edit: The browsing and computing that Sumire's doing in this scene is controlled by her mind and overlaid onto her environment via her neurons. People who refuse the chip do also still use contacts or even glasses, as well.



Sumire looks through her polling results and sees a lone zero at the bottom of her results.  Flashing next to his vote is the small red letter C that is the comment icon for this particular polling app.  She opens the icon and what does she find but picture of man’s penis overlaid with the words, “Your outfit will get you as far as the length of THIS tonight.”  
The troll had struck.
The quick-witted Sumire quickly scanned the square in front of her looking for suspicious people.  A painter ran by and yelled, “How bout this beauty.  The sun setting over the Soeul-Tokyo overpass.”  A dance troupe went into their latest number, something they call the android shuffle.  A poet displayed his latest haiku on his t-shirt and stood solemnly:

Polls find me, somehow

heart strings slow broken song hurts

Melody lingers

“Where is that goddamn troll?” she furies.  She could put out a troll alert and the masses would probably find him quicker, but that’s not the point.  She doesn’t care about justice unless she’s the one wielding the sentence.
Just then an idea comes to her.  She was perving out a few months ago.  Looking for sex apps she could use in the Phys.  She found one called “Crotch Contour” that was fun and to her liking.  It was a program that could approximate the size of a man’s member to the nearest millimeter.  When it was done it could create a real-life picture of what the guy’s wiener looks like.  She tried it out on a few dude’s she slept with and was stunned at its accuracy.  Unfortunately, it couldn’t detect circumcisions but who really gets them anymore?  Shudder.  Sumire suddenly feels like she is back in grade school, but now instead of the fun match-the-color game that her AI tutor used to have her play, she is now playing match-the-cock.  
She begins scanning crotches like no girl has ever scanned crotches before.  Her penis peering speed is uncanny.  Although her method is a bit willy nilly, she is covering quite a lot of ground.  She taps into public cameras that are angled around the square for the convenience of the people.  These days there is barely venn diagram that intersects both the spheres “public” and “private”.  The public cameras are indeed just that -- public.  
“Nope.  That’s not it.  Not that one either.  Wow,” she pauses for a long second.  “Eeew,” she grimaced.  “Come on, come on.  Hurry up and match, you little willies!”  
Nearly ready to give up and let the pathetic troll have his victory she spies a teen exiting the square post-haste.  Not running to attract any unwanted attention, he has the gait of someone long overdue for a pee -- that controlled and fast get-to-the-john-without-leaking stride.  
“That’s gotta be him,” she says as she aims her stare confidently.  “I see you, troll.”
What she does next she does the old fashioned way.  She runs up behind him and kicks him in the back of the knee so he crashes forward, cracking his kneecap on the hard cold pavement.  He’s not going anywhere.
Sumire looks down at him from her position of power and says, “Unzip your pants you coward.  There’s no fucking room for trolls anymore.”
“I’m not going to unzip my pants.  What the hell are you talking about?” he pleads.
“Do it,” she says and grinds her shoe into his injured knee.  “Do it or you’re going to be one step closer to being all tin and no bone.  One step closer to living out your days in the Soup.”
“Ow, shit.  OK you crazy bitch.  You really have a weird fetish.”
He unzips his jeans and his now retreating appendage is out mingling with the cool night air.  As soon as it comes into view, Sumire snaps a photo with the blink of an eye, then compares it to the one the troll sent her, decides they’re a match, snaps another quick pic of the bum’s face, whips them into a microblog and forwards it out to all her favorite hacker message boards.  The message in the post is simple: “This is a scumbag troll I found out in the square tonight.  Find out who he is...and punish him.”
She gives him one more glance and says with conviction, “You’re a dying breed you piece of shit.”  As soon as she turns her head to leave and continue her night, the anger and hate floats off of her like a mist off a mountain on a hot summer’s morning.  You wouldn’t have ever known she was angry just a second ago.  Sumire is zen and she doesn’t even know it.  Moment to moment.  All in each like a poker player on death row.

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