Earth, a rainy night over Los Angeles' polluted skies. The landing coordinator quips a few notes to the spinner pilot taxiing Rick to the man who runs the town. Tyrell, more wealthy than wealthy. The sky is the limit, could you see it past the smog. 

Deckard's Landing

Arcadia 234, off-world colony junkyard. A decked pile of spinners make a roof. Shelter from the elements, also from sunlight. Once every month a robotic song of yearning can be heard wafting through the sandy winds. A retired household Android gets just enough sunlight for a brief moment of charge, barely enough to power on the basic systems, yet long enough to scan the memory banks.

The android emotes for a few seconds and shuts down again before the language module has even loaded. It was cheaper to park it on an off-world junkyard than to admit failure and do a costly recycling of the solar power cores. Business.

Frank Jonen