My future?

I'll be an anachronism who wears a dirty wife beater while dismally plucking a battered banjo on a dilapidated porch. My house will be the only house that isn't a smart house, and still has the thin screens and Blu-Ray players.

I probably wouldn't have a car and have to ride the streetcar to to get my monthly welfare check because the Post Service has been hijacked by organized crime.

The government? Where I live, it will only have a token presence, unable to exert an authority over the criminal elements, gated communities, and pretty much everything else. Its offices will be unmaintained, manned only by a harried man with a misguided sense of duty in a small room with all the windows open the smell of garbage because the air conditioning is too expensive to repair.

My children will either be technopunks addicted to virtual reality drugs or faceless drones in the pervasive corporate entities in the intensely Darwinian arena of Capitalism.

They will never visit their father, who has not bothered to upgrade to the invasive thought controlled cortex implants or submitted to the life extension regiments. They consider him like they consider the old desk top computers: novel and necessary tolerances.

When I die, I will be simply burned, because there is not enough room to place a worthless member of society in the ground. My ashes probably will be violated, spread in some landfill or another.

The world will move on, for better or for worse, and the parts we all play are fleeting and even the most important deeds are forgotten against the inexorable face of Time.

The End

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