[ WP ] You find a copy of The Sims 5 at a used video game store . You decide to buy it and try it out . Slowly , unscripted and non programmed events start to happen . You realize that you 're actually controlling a real family .

New Orleans is a prime location to get drunk. And I was a prime volunteer. 
 
 The combination of street performers, open drinking laws, magical Mardi Gras beads, and bourbon street almost guaranteed a blackout whenever I took a vacation there- and if they did n't, they the buddies I brought along with me would help push me over the edge. Hell, the last time we went I remember boarding the plane to get there, and I remember getting on the plane to leave. But absolutely nothing in between. 
 
 Which was why I was surprised unpacking my bags by a small case tossed into a side pocket, with a disk inside. And stapled to the front, almost in a gruesome manner, was a receipt from *Vick's VooDoo*, made out by scrawling handwriting, with a row of symbols along the bottom. 
 
 I'd stayed home from work that day, the hangover from the trip still pounding in my head, my stomach releasing smells long since declared illegal by the Geneva convention. And with nothing better to do, I popped the game in my computer, and I began to play. 
 
 I'd never played the Sims, but I'd seen it done, and I knew how it worked. It would be best to start with something easy, a family I could model without much trouble. 
 
 So I settled on the neighbors, Jim and Martha. Late thirties, boring people actually- for the past six weeks, Jim had been trying to put together an apartment complex wide barnecue for the forth of July, and I was certain he would consider it one of his top achievements. Maybe even make a spot of his resume. 
 
 So in the game, I had him buy a grill and party supplies, easily outstripping their measly budget. And as I yawned, and prepared for bed, I found him a new job so his barbecue could have additional funding, and not be as lame as real life. Two times his current income- still nothing amazing, but for a man like Jim, he had struck gold. 
 
 And walking to my car the next morning, Jim bumped into me at the bottom of the stairs as we excited the building, and walked over to a car parked in between two spaces, straddling the white line to provide more space. 
 
 `` You're looking!,'' he said proudly, slapping the hood, `` Of a proud owner of a new Honda Civic! Drives like a champ, and let me tell you that those Chinese Engineers really know how to drive up those MPG's!'' 
 
 He grinned, and waited for my acknowledgment, his eyes searching. Only Jim would need his neighbor's approval for buying a new car, especially a civic. 
 
 `` Cool stuff, Jim'', I answered as I stepped into my own car, `` how'd you swing that?'' 
 
 `` New job at the plant!'' He shouted back, `` And whewee, did it come with extra green!'' 
 
 `` Congrats,'' I muttered, and started to close the door, cutting off his words. 
 
 `` And do n't forget this next weekend is the barbecue- I bought a new grill and-'' 
 
 But the door was shut, and I was already on my morning grind. And it was n't until the second stoplight that the realization hit me. The thought pulled at me all day at work until I clocked out that day, and I fired up The Sims. And I put my theory to the test. 
 
 The walls between out apartment were thin- so thin, I could often hear snippets of speech. And I experimented. 
 
 I clicked *argue*, and Jim's voice would float over about how his wife should make potato salad instead of mashed potatoes for the barbecue, and he *did not give s damn* whether she had won blue ribbon ten years before at the fair for her Tater Tornado. 
 
 Then I could make them high five in the heat of it, the stands coming through the drywall. 
 
 And I heard the make up sex I commanded, probably their first in years, the sounds cringeworthy as I decided never to select that option again. But I smiled, looking at the receipt from Vick's Voodoo on the ground, and reading the text for the first time. 
 
 `` *You may not remember me, but I'll remember you, Mr. Tim. Take this, as a parting gift. A way of giving you what you have earned. * 
 
 And on the computer, I selected *New Game*, buying my lip in thought of who I should choose next. Names flitted through my head as my fingers itched at the keys- Zuckerburg or Gates who could leave me gifts, a few of my exes for what they deserved, GRR Martin who I could confine to his study until he actually wrote a damn book, The Cubs Team so they could finally win the World Series- the list went on for nearly ten minutes. Then I typed a name, and hit enter, adrenaline rushing as the screen began to load. 
 
 But not before cancelling Jim's barbecue. 
 
 *** 
 
 By Leo 
 

