You sit in on the bar counter, smoking your cigarette, your bionic left arm beeping faintly, asking for a recharge. The bar is full of scoundrels of all kinds. There is no escape from scoundrels. In the bar you get lowlife scum, in the high-rise buildings you get suited demons who are high enough that their face does not reflect the monsters they are. That's the thing about faces. If you can tell from the face that a person is a scoundrel, he is just not well off. Social strata causes evil to reflect on the face. High up you won't be able to tell how many acts of depravity and evil one has commited. That's the magic of stratification, entitlement and above all, money. You ask the bartender for another vodka shot. Your bionic arm still beeping. You ignore it, you can afford being a one handed man until you reach home and plug it. You see a guy and a girl getting cosy on your next. You smirk to yourself. Girls, girls girls, they are strange creatures. They can take a dick and talk to their dads simultaneously while taking it, in a very casual way like nothing is happening. Strange creatures indeed. You signal the bartender for one more drink. You have to go to work tomorrow. You never considered work to be important until you did not have a job. The madness that comes with lack of money and nothing to do is indescribable. Heck, you'd work for free, just to keep yourself from going insane. You work as an administrator for a hospital for low-life people. There is always financial crunch and sixty percent of individuals who get admitted there die. The people who lose limbs or eyes, can't afford new bionic ones, so after they heal, they sit on signals to beg for money. All this kind of makes you glad that sixty percent of them die instead of suffering more in this corrupt, diabolic world. The ones in suits, in high-rise buildings have visors implanted inside their skulls that projects thoughts and visual and audio feeds of people of the lower social strata. They close their eyes and see another person's life. It's like a bodycam footage. You know someone must be watching you and reading your thoughts right now. Some rich fuck that you don't even know. So, you light another cigarette to rub your style in. You know you're being watched eating, walking, shitting, fucking. But it doesn't really matter to you. When you were young, biotechnology was not so developed, people had normal lives, above all, they had emotions, now it's money and sex, that's it. In this modern world with bionic limbs and laser eyes and intracranial visors which get relayed inputs of live feed of people's lives, only two things matter, money and sex. To be honest, it's not wrong, lower people are just copying the ones above, only they do not murder people with impunity and play elaborate mental games with them. Your arm has discharged completely and you would have to go home one handed, but that's okay. You order one more drink, and light another cigarette and laugh to yourself. You find yourself lucky, that you still value personal satisfaction and have not become a beasts like others, it doesn't matter, but that's what you were taught in your childhood and that's what you are. We have to carry the diseases we contract in childhood, like morals, ethics, respectfulness, that do not go along with the world of today. But that's okay. There is a simple process to life, oxygen in, carbon dioxide out, as long as you can.
