It’s 2020, April 14th. A fine spring day.

I exit the patio doors with a tray of meat in my hands and as the UV coated doors close effortlessly yet quickly behind me, my clothes lighten to accommodate the sunlight. My glasses extend to cover the sides of my eyes, sealing them in.

I stop and look across the city of Montreal from our partially-obscured back yard. If I stand on my toes I can see the top of the Place Ville-Marie and if I scoot to the right of SharkBoy’s garden (carefully avoiding the crocuses) I can see the river. Of course I can see the Rogers Tower, looming 89 floors over the city, it’s Red circle logo in high def LEDs casting a slight pink glow on all of us, even in broad daylight.

George Hamilton comes wearily out of the cat door. “Meh!” he croaks at me as if I walked away from him while he was talking. After 13 years he’s still not able to be left alone for long. He approaches the flowers and gets a mild shock from his RIDF subdermal chip for even thinking of nibbling on them. “Meh.” he mutters and settles into the grass.

The BBQ senses my approach and lights itself. The grill is hot within 30 seconds and I drop the meat on it with a flourish. It will use up some of our house battery reserves but it’s a great day and the fresh chicken I manage to procure from the black market is well worth the expense. I carefully start the carbon filter so the neighbours can’t smell the cooking chicken. If they even remember what real cooking chicken smells like.

My iPhone wakes up. “Ted? Call from your sister. No subject line.”

“Accept.” The screen comes to life and she’s wearing a pirate hat, eye patch and a stripey shirt – very in vogue for her line of work. “Nice new privacy avatar!” I say. I can’t afford one and she’s seeing me as I am. We talk 15 minutes about the housing development she just sold over the long forgotten tar sands in Calgary.

The BBQ interrupts us: “Turn, please.” Christ! The meat! And the table isn’t set yet, either.

“Where’s your father?” I ask George Hamilton.

“Meh,” he meows. His collar flashes “I don’t understand the question?”

I can see SharkBoy on the couch through the darkened windows. He’s on the antiquated Wii still trying to get through Lara Croft Anniversary. Bless his heart.