With the advent of cheap, ubiquitous public teleportation, casual inebriation has reached an all time high. When there’s a perfectly preserved saved state of yourself waiting back at the home terminal, there is no such thing as heroin addiction. In the clubs, amputation is already yawn-inducing performance art. Only your grandmother knows anyone who has seen an abortion clinic, let alone visited one. Tokyo is only as far away as Starbucks.

But you still arrive two hours late to all of my parties.