General Inspection

“Your mind is our neighborhood!” laughed down the alley some teenagers as Omar walked past them. He carried his groceries toward his apartment in a weekly basis and worked as an independent writer at home. He did travel to the city twice a week usually to the library and met friends at least a few times a year.

As he reached his street, many other people laughed past him while others smiled at his eyes. A street-medic botched his neural implant, and now most of his mood and even thoughts were public knowledge to those who dared to listen.

Some people knew nothing, but most did and made sure to let him feel their wish for him to go. Three years had gone by and he still went on. He lost everything, wealth, work and even romantic interests. People even made up crazy stories about his past and health.

Still, he knew better than to worry or feel guilty about it. As he reached his apartment he knew he had no privacy but did have loneliness. And through loneliness he wrote tech and poetry. He was sure in one way or the other she read and liked what he wrote, even though he would never see her again.