Black days! Grim tidings! Bad feelings at the end of history. There seems no place to run toward and no way to travel backward, if even that were a fruitful option, which it is not and could never be. There is nothing doing, now. Only boredom. Nothing is so boring as the present. The past benefits from hindsight and filtration, selective remembrance which of course presents yesteryear as a glittery and sometimes terrible place, but by all accounts important and meaningful, a time during which a resourceful man of fortune might, if he played his cards right, secure for himself an important and meaningful existence. Now–what? Nothing. Walls of beige, carpeted hallways, laminate cubicles and business casual. Except for the third item. Even the cubicle has become an anachronism, now. The image of tomorrow is a fully-remote career from cradle to grave, tutored by Artificial Intelligence, commanded by passive-aggressive superiors through laptop monitors, and retiring at last to the great virtual golf course in the sky.