“If you’re done with the Syntho-Stim Orb, Logan, I’d like to borrow it; Pleasure Unit 4-A3 is coming over to my domocube after eatshift. Thanks. But wash it off this time first, okay?”

This was not a projection of the future. This was the present. This is the vision fobbed off on 1975 Middle America - this horrid Clockwork Orange nightmare of glowing orbs and bullying red-oranges, babyshite yellow carpets, unstable tables topped with vases that spilled the minute someone bumped them, sofas set so low your knees banged against your ears -

Who wants to live like this? As a club, sure. As a hotel room: great.

As a home? Of course, anyone who found this nowadays in a house would preserve it as a shrine. It does have a certain useless charm. but you just know that people who built basement rooms like this ended up divorced coke addicts who spent the 80s alone, tweaking their prized reel-to-reel tapes, and spent the 90s scanning their collection of Barbi Benton Playboys.

Is this is as modern as it gets in this book? Hah! We've only just begun.