Life in America in 2026

I'm driving to Costco in a car that seems to lag behind me whenever it accelerates, listening to a guy on the radio talk about some shooting at a burger chain. "And what we have to remember is, we can't let the bad guys win. And if we stop going to In-and-Out Burger because of this, the bad guys win. You know, it's the same thing I say to people about Iran," etc., etc.

I stop at a building to see if they're hiring. I don't have a job, except for up at the farm, when I can get it. Sometimes I'm not sure if I'll be able to afford gas to get to the farm. I go up to the building, some plastics factory that's always stood out to me because it's one of the last vaguely aesthetic 1950s buildings still standing in this city. It smells interesting, like chemicals that are only developed to cover the smell of other chemicals.

When I get to the door, I see a sign on it.

State Notice: No Work is to be Done in this Building Until State Inspections Board Has Ruled that Environmental Factors are Safe

or something. It's from months, maybe years ago. Weeds are growing up through the cracks in the sidewalks.

I have an appointment to view some apartments later. The first is owned by some corporation that only rents in the slums. The guide is wide-eyed and eager, like they'll kill his family if I don't rent. The building feels like a castle on the inside, with a huge courtyard, strewn with black baby dolls that have been partially disassembled, ruined dollhouses, hammers, toy hammers, etc. 

The room itself feels like a prison cell. Someone pissed in the toilet and didn't flush.

"$825 a month," the guy says, "Plus $425 security deposit. We don't do first month's rent, you don't have to worry about that."

He shows me the laundry room. "It's really cool, because you can, like, pay just with your phone, see?"

He shows me the machine. It's entirely app operated.

"Oh," I say. "Is there a way to uh, not do that?"

Pause.

"N--no," he says, "But it's really simple, you just download an app on your phone."

"Is it free?"

"No."

I don't have a phone.

Later I view another apartment, being rented by some guy. He's a short balding older dude who seems to spend his whole life traveling the world and taking pictures of himself in front of Islamic temples and stuff. He has a bunch of motorcycles. When I get there I ring the doorbell. His door is plastered with signs that say I'm on camera, and little pictures of cameras, considering a lot of people here don't speak English.

"Hey, why don't you come around the back," he says. I'm confused, because I'm right here. "Go around the back, dude." I shrug, and start to go around the back. He says, "Hey, you're the guy that's here to view the room?" I turn, and say yeah. I realize he must've been joking about, "Go around the back," like he was pretending we were doing a drug deal or something, for a bit. "Then go around the back," he says again, and I realize he's not kidding.

The place looks like a log cabin on the inside and smells like cat piss. He barely makes eye-contact and plays on his phone most of the time.

When I leave my car won't start. My girl bought me a jump pack for Christmas, and it eventually starts my 2004 Le Sabre up, though I have to keep revving the engine in neutral to keep it from dying. I think it's the rain.