Prose
She paid no mind to the airships and spacemachines, or really anything overhead. Her stoplights were long burnt out, all information free to superhighway on by without a single red brakelight. The Hubble Megascope was in disrepair, two more civil lawsuits had escalated into microwars and were subsidized to corporate militias, and many other sponsored and somewhat scripted new stories were breaking around the globe. She was not interested in any. She remained a victim of the Boredom Pandemic, medicated but terminal. There was no cure, but as long as they remained smacked out on hypercodone or 3c-MA, the afflicted hordes pleasantly and calmly accepted their state-funded way of life. After all, it was the Old Government’s fault the fatal disease existed anyway, created in the bio-eco wartech labs in some sociopolitical scuffle in the earlier parts of the millenium. Some people had moved into Local Space, some people lived or just worked in Outer Space, some even left the solar system to seek their fortunes in Further Space. Some, she, explored the space between minutes, a sixty second astronaut. There were more things than ever before, and just as many ways to get tired of them.