We are lost in a pea soup fog.
There are no more biscuits. We appear to be completely out of them at this point. Thankfully we have crackers, because they will be our tools to navigate this muddled time. They are our bones and our chicken stock, but instead of making soup we will be ingesting it. Filling our stomachs with the future we will then seek to cleanse our palate on the ice cool waters of the past. Only the present will remain, and it will be the check on the table that we all look at awkwardly wondering who is going to reach for their Visa card first.
The world used to accept fortune tellers and mystics, the odd time they'd burn them (or dunk them) as witches but for the most part people accepted that the future was something that could be well known simply by glancing at how the bones of a small animal fell from a bag. By a turn of a card. By the bumps of our heads.
These days we have futurists and new media gurus. Facebook will be the next big thing, until it's the next old thing and then we'll be exploring a new meme. We discovered how easy it was to sell the future when 2010 Cola took off and became a hit. Sadly unlike James I didn't invest my profits well, he truly saw the future and filled jerrycans [wp] with Premium Unleaded gas while I bought stocks. Which of us are laughing now? Neither of us I suppose, James knew more about the price of oil than how to safely store it in a mid-town apartment.
The map there is where James used to live. There's nothing there but a hole in the ground and whatever police tape that the Emily Carr kids haven't stolen to use in their living art exhibits. He was a good guy, the sort of go to guy you'd call up if you needed a mongoose at 5 am on a Tuesday in April. Don't ask, I won't tell. I owe him that much.