I am the post-modern Mechanical Turk. A digital HIT chess player trying to make the most of his time; and out of his time. Like a Mecha-Turk Colossus I stumble forth. Clicking, waiting, clicking again. Wanting, yearning for that one HIT. My eyes scan, fingers click, hands move. Fifty-cents or more that is my score. Will I do it? Just in time before my kids start to wine. Back again, lunch is over now. One hour to go. Break… Steak, so be it. Even corn flakes. Everyone home. Simmer down. Time to sleep, but not for me. I am the HIT-man who works at night but never alone in the cold glow of the screen. My electric fire, surrounded by the shadows of my kindred Turks. Different fires at the same place, not in space but in time… Keep pushing, keep those gears going. On into the night the screen, burning my eyes, it is dark all around me. I look to my right, a sleeping wife. Time for a break. I stumble through the dark, looking for water. Check my children on the way to my next HIT not so very far away. It is within my reach. I can touch it now. Fingers clicking on the keyboard, dizzy dancers spinning out of control. Whirling, tapping, dancing for the change. The audience wants more, always more, and they are always willing to pay…as long as you please them that is. I am the Mechanical Turk. Three more words this HIT is done, time to move on and have some more fun.