"You look tired, Artie," Silas said, his voice crisp and unfiltered by the low-bitrate audio compression that Arthur’s free account forced on him.
Arthur sighed, waving a hand through the air to dismiss the burger. It didn't vanish; it simply shrank and pinned itself to the corner of his peripheral vision, right next to a floating bottle of detergent and a scrolling ticker of "Hot Singles in New London." Do you want no ads?
Arthur’s doorbell rang. Or rather, a jingle for a popular insurance firm played. "You look tired, Artie," Silas said, his voice
Without the ads to tell him he was hungry, he forgot to eat. Without the scrolling news-crawl, he realized he didn't know what year it was, only what "Season" of the current global conflict was trending. Without the prompts to "Click here to feel Joy," he sat in the grey light of his room and felt a profound, aching emptiness. Or rather, a jingle for a popular insurance firm played