«CES CENTURY! 1967—2067! A team of heavily armed Facebook personnel cleared a path for visiting dignitaries, digital executives, proxy hosts, models, athletes, and drone stars. Jaden Door, war hero and CEO of Samsung, floated by, veiled from head to toe; he didn’t even stop to wave. Beyonce let the crowd push him to the red rope that surrounded the Central Hall rectangle’s perimeter. For the first time, he noticed you couldn’t even see the other end. It was a black oil spill in the largest room he’d ever stood inside, a vacuum of reflected neon, the largest non-fingerprint marred surface in the history of human civilization. He sucked the last wisps from the cocaine pen, and squeezed to the front of the crowd. The presentation would begin at any moment. There was no time to mourn the contents of his pocket, no room for dread. History was crashing over everyone around the dark expanse. His hand unclenched; he let go of his brick. Beyonce craned his neck and saw his dead face in the mammoth rectangle, and he’d never loved anything more than he loved the future.»
Posted on: Thu, 15 Jan 2015 04:11:04 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015