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A tale of futuristic woe, and dick sucking!
A car pulls up alongside me as I walk down one of the hundreds of deserted industrial backstreets that make up this filthy planet. We travel at the same pace for a minute, each of us understanding that this is the last chance we have to stop this. To pull out of this grungy transaction by not even starting. The passenger window rolls down and a man’s voice calls out.
“How much?”
“3” I answer, still looking straight ahead. The window rolls up and the car peels out. He’ll be back. They always come back. This is business after all, and in every business, there is a strategy. You can bluff, but if you made the first move, you’ll be back. Sure enough within ten minutes, he is back and our transaction is painlessly fulfilled. 78 now. 22 more to go. 22 more and I can start making enough money to get some implantations installed and be deemed beautiful enough to get off this twisted planet.
He was pleasant enough I suppose. For a freakazoid. He didn’t take his gas mask off, but I don’t mind much. Other people mind. Some won’t even get into the car if a freakazoid has one on but not me. I’d rather not see their face. It’s easier to forget that way.
“Welcome to the future!” announces the neon sign above the bus terminal. Sitting on…
