It rained just enough to make everything wet, but not enough that I need an umbrella. I step out of the craft store, the picture frames for my antique lithographs tucked under my arm. Paid for with a quick tap on my phone, that slightly warm slab of glass that has become an extension of myself. I haven't touched physical money in quite some time.

A thousand different LED lights reflect on the wet asphalt. It's almost beautiful. A news report streams directly into my wireless headphones. In a cool, detached tone, the newscaster tells me the story of a teenager who became emotionally dependent on an AI chatbot; a simulacrum of a character from a TV show. The last thing the boy did before taking his own life was say, "I love you," to the computer program pretending to be Daenerys Targaryen. The billion-dollar company behind it, of course, claims no fault. They never do.

Just another story that sounds like the fiction of my childhood as the world is trapped in limbo. In two weeks or maybe three, the preeminent superpower, far away, will decide whether to grant us a few more years of stability or plunge us into the dark spiral of fascism. It probably won't affect me straight away. Not directly, anyway. The phone videos of violence and environmental catastrophes will just get closer. Closer and closer. Until the day I hold out my phone as my city district is washed away by floods or tanks roll down my street.

As I walk by an old church, a sex worker tries to get my attention, like every time I walk by. I finally reach my bike. The rain is starting to pick up now. I should hurry and get home.