The heat of the unbearable last-ditch Indian summer has now metamorphosised into a cool and damp autumn, and as the soothing sound of the polluted and bitter tasting downpour outside is making me want to pass urine, oh my treacherous and parasitic readers, I feel myself slipping into a daylight reverie …
I awake in my frozen bed on a wintry Monday morning to a tapping and buzzing at the window of my 4th floor apartment. It is the reverb whirr of a mail drone bringing me the two small bottles of liquid THC with added vitamin C, for my electronic vapour cloud cigarette, that I ordered just six hours before gripped in a moment of The Fear as I realised that my vapourised ganja supply had been inhaled to its natural end. Increasing middle-aged arthritis is the stabbing cross I have to bear until the clean blood rejuvenation process becomes affordable for us neoproles. On the sideboard, I hear my HAL 9000 smart device turn itself on, as it senses my body functions have gone from dormant to active, and I reach over and grab it, feeling it vibrate an affectionate greeting in my palm.
Morning, Dave,” it purrs.
I climb over my bed and wrestle the window open; the drone inches forward, scanning the distance to my sticky right hand, then deposits the two bio-degradable plastic bottles into it. My device goes ping!, to signify that the funds from my DopeCoin cryptocurrency account have been successfully transferred and with the transaction finished, the drone answers “Merci de votre confiance” before it whirrs off into the morning to take some synthetic laudanum to the old gent down the road with Parkinson’s disease.
If I had not had enough cash in my DC account, the drone would have asked me thrice to place the bottles back into the dispenser and if I had not complied by thirty seconds after the third request, it would have retrieved the bottles with the help of its in-built taser and grab claw. I would be convulsing and scratched; a blackened mess on the floor while it alerts both the emergency and security services connected to my address, sending a video of the abortive transaction to the relevant offices for evidence of my misdemeanour. I would then be charged for wasting time, transaction fraud and my DC account frozen for three months.
A fair trade is preferable. I don’t think my ailing corpse could stand yet another tasering; with my knees, I just can’t hobble like I used to.
Arf. Arf.


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