iTopia

Turns out I want a coffee. I had wondered.

GP-Shoes steer me to the table I’d choose if I was choosing.

Not my usual poison I see, as it’s placed on my table an expertly crafted twelve seconds after I arrive. This one’s frothy with, I think, an alcohol kick. I must be feeling adventurous.

I taste it. Another Goldilocks moment. Just right.

I almost wonder what it’s called, but OmCon’s algorithms will log it with data beyond what any name can convey, including temperature and pitched sweetness. They’ll know when I feel like one again.

My holopanion fades into life exactly three sips later, in what must be my pre-analysed preference for company. It’s Paolo in Yokohama today. His coffee’s half gone. His own preference.

OmCon have synced our meet-up perfectly as usual - which is more than can be said for the LipSync. It’s blip-syncing today! Something to do with blending Paolo’s lip movements from Portuguese into translated English, whilst he’s in Japan.

LipSyncing stabilises. We chat. Bio-hacking in Brazil. Phage successes against re-engineered anthrax in Ukraine. We agree. We make each other laugh. OmCon’s friend-match flawless. Pointless, Dad would say. Even in this day and age he likes to argue. Refused implants despite the obvious benefits. Public Health are considering a Tranquillity Order. Dad’s furious though, says maybe they should just lobotomise him instead.

I realise something’s irritating me. Paolo’s too white teeth? Perhaps OmCon’s friend-match isn’t quite flawless after all.

We say goodbye. I won’t see him again. Thankfully his feelings won’t be hurt. OmCon will adjust his implants to engineer a reflective dislike towards me.

I finish my coffee wondering if it was my dislike that was engineered, not Paulo’s. Suddenly I wonder if OmCon created both dislikes. I’d told Paolo about my dad and he told me about a Vietnamese sect wanting to want stuff after they want it again. Madness. But Paolo was interested and my dad would be too.

Anxiety rises. Implant serotonin releases. The questions aren’t important.

I find I’m walking home. Guess I’m not feeling adventurous any more.