The year is 2021, three years have passed. In the virtual drawing room of The Post, two gentlemen are toasting each other behind a pile of brand new books. Enveloping them is a flashing media wall in which anchor persons imprisoned in their separate cells mouth the news without disturbing  the music playing  ‘Eine kleine Nachtmusik’ .

“Cheers, my friend!” Adam smiles, “I told you we’ll get the books out in time!”

“Considering I once spent more than a decade on a book , 3 years is rather painless, so I’ll drink to that!“ Karl throws back his head to empty the scotch in one fast motion, and grabs the bottle to refill the crystal goblets looking anything but cheerful. “But my goodness, I’m glad we insisted on having these printed. Those e-book are like water molecules in a water reservoir, a few ‘zeros and ones’ in a binary ocean, or should I say, a twig in the layer of organic compost covering the roots of a rainforest in this virtual bookstore they so appropriately call Amazon. ”

“I find it delightful,” Adam shushed, “It’s great that it gives everyone a chance to publish their books. We just have to work harder to hack away the clutter and create a clearing so that the sun can shine on it.”

“It’s been too easy that’s what it is,“ Karl moaned, “There are certain things I want to brood on and go over with a magnifying  glass many times over. I think the festo should be between 350 pages and 3500 pages, not 35 pages”

“Life is short,” Adam shrugs, “Your first festo was 28 pages, wasn’t it?”

“Strictly speaking, we are immortals,” Karl frowns, “which makes it more depressing, because we have to spend eternity in the apocalyptic world that lurks at the horizon and is blowing this way at the speed of light. Now that I have time on my hand, I can afford to regurgitate every word and make sure it’s evenly baked on all sides.”

“The way I look at it, as long as the gist is there the smaller details matter less.” Adam sighs and sips at his glass of sherry, “You may have an eternity, but the world’s fossil fuel is going to run out in 2057, humanity’s time is running out.”

“Don’t be silly, we have waited nearly two hundred years, what difference does it make?” Karl grunts and empties his third scotch and grabs the bottle once again.

”With all due respect,  presumably humans have walked the earth for 50,000 years already.” Adam says without noticing that Karl has topped his glass of sherry with scotch, and takes another sip, “From now to 2057, there’s still 26 years. If we  assume the time of human species on earth equals  the 24 hours of a single day and expires at midnight, it would be now be 62.2 seconds before mid-night.”

Karl stares at Adam who takes another sip of the concoction he swirls around in the near full glass, “The more I think about it, the less sense you make.” Karl says, “Anyway, they will wait for the great Karl.“

“Wannabe.”

“What?”

“Karl Marx Wannabe.” Adam leers through his glass confused by the multiple Karls, who have shrunken to the size of peanuts, “You may think you’re real. You may feel like you’re the real deal, but  we are nothing but regenerated fractions of knowledge, memories and electrons streaming back and forth the stratosphere, my man. “

“You must be too tired, having worked so hard for three years.“ Karl says, why propping a few cushions against the armrest of the Victorian sofa, “Why don’t you drink up, and lie down for a bit.”

Adam drinks up and shakes his head, but seems to lack the orientation to stay upright , “I must ask  Sam HIC… how he programmed us to become intoxicated HIC… “ He leans back and sinks into the cushions, “If that’s a physio.. HIC… logical state we.. HIC… as simulations cannot ex.. HIC… perience.” Adam has passed out before he could close his mouth.

”Finally!” Karl sighs, takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeve, ”Let’s get to work.”