Today is November 9th, 2050, and it’s 07:35:22 a.m. I think it’s trash day, but I’m not sure. Trash day is always on Wednesday, and it’s definitely Wednesday. Or maybe it isn’t? I didn’t hear the garbage truck outside the apartments; you can hear them from any apartment at The Percival. The blaring, autonomous whine of the trucks and the thunder of the trash being violently dumped into its back are like my Wednesday wakeup call. The building is in the heart of Columbia, the capital city of South Carolina, so it’s always on the earliest pickup routes. Corporate apartments like the Percival were built in 2032 after the Great Panic and the markets crashed. My mom and dad lost everything, and we moved into the fourth floor of the building. They were able to find jobs in call centers upstairs. I was a kid and didn’t know it at the time, but The Percival would become my forever home.
When I graduated high school, I moved to the 25th floor with my wife and got a job. The 12hour shifts made coffee a big part of my morning routine. My commute was to the 35th floor, and my wife worked on the 41st.
