The passport line is jammed packed. Same as the drivers licence office, same as the registration office, same as all the other offices. Fees and taxes and stickers and take a number, the waiting room awaits. The chairs are hard and dirty, but the offices don't care. Lots of cranky people looking to bolt the country, evidently.
For reasons of disgust or fear, or both. Maybe it's the jolt they needed, the liberty roar of the rational people. We've been around. The death of hair metal, the rise of the walkman, the smartphone takeover, glowing social scenes. Lenny Kravitz.
It ain't over til it's over. Robots building robots, loaded with all of human knowledge. Softwired to learn. Fearless for space, brave and new. Looking up and staying busy, seeking technical improvements.