With Fritz’s plug safely secured inside of his little tin body, he rubbed his hands together as he contemplated what to do next. Who would be able to tell him about the twittery feeling in his chest? Metal rubbing against metal, sparks flew down onto the white carpet of Fritz’s bedroom floor, sizzling as they extinguished and burned pencil-tip-sized black marks in a crescent pattern around his little robot feet. As Fritz scanned the room, he realized that his carpet looked like someone had sprinkled pepper all over the floor from wall to wall. This must surely be a sign of his intelligence and not something to be ashamed of, since all of that rubbing his hands together usually just led Fritz to brainstorm some marvelous adventure.
Fritz rolled across the bumpy carpet, his parts clinking and clanking as he made his way to his front door. He reached out and turned the doorknob, slowly, to the right. He yanked at the door, alarmed with the amount of difficulty it took to dislodge the door from the frame. “This can’t be a good sign,” he thought, but as the door finally came free from the frame with a rubbery sounding creak, Fritz looked out upon the world. It was raining. Robots can’t go out in the rain.