Dana Otell saw his welfare manager on Thursday. The interrogation was a monthly routine in order to qualify for continued assistance. He took the subway to the government building. The train careened through the black hole like a missile loaded with bombs. The machinery whistled and moaned. Light-and-dark flickered like snapping flashbulbs and smeared faces stared from beyond the car’s windows.
The train screeched to a stop and ejected Dana along with the other passengers. He passed through metal shutters to a platform; he went up florescent stairs and exited a mechanical gate into the chill afternoon. He walked a block to his appointed destination.
The welfare complex was an immense steel construction that descended below ground where numerous files could be stored in subbasements. Dana received a number from a box and waited to be called. He filled out five sheets of personal questions, the same questions he filled out every month. Resignation was forced on him like a plastic body bag. Everyone looked embalmed, waiting to garner another month of food and shelter. Hours passed, but finally his name was called.
He walked down a metal corridor until he came to the designated partition. He waited for the machine to recognize him. The world was run by machines. People were second class citizens. The only diversion was virtual reality, a world of ghosts. Dana lived in a virtual dream. Even his visit to the welfare complex was a dream. The machine that greeted him was a ghost in a dream. There was no end to the layers of dreams … and there was no way out.