1.
There’s a rule of the “do unto others” variety that says: if you’re waiting in line at the grocery store behind a friend who obviously has had work done, do not—I repeat: DO NOT—under any circumstances, not even if somebody is holding a gun to your head, make any notice of the fact that the skin over her cheekbones is taut to bursting. The reason for this golden rule is obvious: two weeks from now, you’ll have had the same work done and you hope that she’ll ignore you in exactly the way you ignore her. So you each lean in to the other, kissy kissy on each cheek, mwah mwah, pouty lips slapping together like sloppy slabs of meat. Instead of talking about things that really matter, things that are obvious on their face (in a manner of speaking), you talk about trivial things like KayLee’s Ph.D thesis on the precursors to French Existentialism.
When the clerk finishes scanning all the items and asks if Mirabel collects saver’s rewards (but seriously? who would admit to such a thing?) and when she reads off the grand total, Mirabel pulls her new SuperSmartPhone SSPXL from her purse and waves it around like a magic wand: “Look what Josh got me.”
I’ve read about the SSPXL. They’re marketing it as the nail in the coffin of cash. All you have to do is unlock your SSPXL and wave it over the card reader. You’re as good as paid. The trick is unlocking the phone which relies on facial recognition software. You point the smartphone camera at your face, unlock the phone, wave it over the card reader, and carry your groceries to the car. At least those are the steps the cashier recites when she sees that Mirabel is having difficulty getting her device to work.
“But I used it just this morning,” she whines. Again, she holds the phone to her face and again nothing happens.
“Maybe it would help to remember exactly what you were doing the last time you used it.” I’m full of excellent suggestions.
“Well, that’s easy. I was paying for parking at Doctor—” Mirabel turns away, embarrassed.
Ah, I understand. Mirabel was at the plastic surgeon’s this morning. Her facial recognition software won’t work anymore. Everything’s reconfigured. I slide some cash along the conveyor belt and whisper that Mirabel can pay me back whenever it’s convenient. No rush.
Equanimity is not a word I’d use to describe Mirabel. She stands immobile beside her bagged produce, clenching and unclenching her fists while a fire rises to her firm cheeks. She holds the SSPXL poised over the corner of the checkout counter and I see by the fury in her eyes that she means to shatter the device. But she stops herself, shutting her eyes and drawing in a deep breath: “I am better than this; I will focus my spirit; I will go home and meditate.”
2.
By the time we answered the call, the house was burnt to the ground. Didn’t take no Einstein to figure out the cause. Corpse charred beyond recognition but still seated in the lotus position, a hand laid palm up on each knee, thumbs pressed to middle fingers. Not like I’m an expert, but I didn’t think the Buddha went in for seared meat. On the floor in front of the corpse was a candle holder. The source of the fire—the ignition point—was a spot on the floor roughly a hand’s span from the candle holder. The obvious inference: the victim had been meditating in front of a candle when something—maybe a dog—ran past and knocked it over. The candle lit the carpet while the woman continued to chant her “om.” If it had been me sitting cross-legged in front of a burning patch of carpet, I would have found it a simple thing to reach for a cushion and snuff out the flame. But it wasn’t me, was it? It was a woman pretending to be a Buddhist. Who knows what goes through the mind of a pretend Buddhist. I guess the correct answer is: nothing. No mind. Maybe that explains everything. When the dog knocked over the candle, the woman tried to be the sort of Buddhist who thinks absolutely nothing. What is the sound of one hand flailing?
3.
“Tell me, Kate, what do you think of the new SSPXL smartphone?”
“Is that the one from the new ad?”
“Yes.”
“That recognizes your face?”
“That’s the one.”
“Do you fancy one?”
“Dunno, love.”
William had been brooding about it ever since he saw that tabloid photo of Harry holding the sleek phone to his ear. Now that he was off to America, Harry seemed to get all the good toys.
“I see only one blip in your plan.”
“What’s that, darling?”
“It’s a matter of constitutional law.”
“Am I going to be calling a solicitor?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Can’t even buy myself a phone without getting a bloody lawyer to sign off on it.”
Kate understood the appeal of the SSPXL. As long as she had known William, she had witnessed how he chafed under the “No Cash” rule that governed all Royals. It is a commonplace that people want most what they cannot have, and what William could not have was an afternoon browsing in the shops like an ordinary consumer. This was the promise of cashless technology: it offered the ability to behave like an ordinary consumer without violating that centuries-old constitutionally entrenched rule.
Naturally, the stuffed shirts would resist the idea that her William could shop for himself. But if the nation’s finest legal minds vetted the plan … Just imagine it! William could walk unaccompanied into a Regent Street haberdashery and buy a jaunty cap, and pay for it on his own account without dirtying his hands. He would make history.
4.
Josh stood at the curb and watched as a firetruck roared past, sirens blaring and lights flashing. A homeless man sat on a bench to his left. At least Josh presumed the man was homeless. He wore old clothes and smelled. He held out his hand and asked if Josh could spare some change. Josh shrugged and apologized. He didn’t carry change, no cash of any sort, not since he bought the new SSPXL.