A few days ago I mentioned that the Chron's editor o' snark had issued an "open" call for "all" Houstonians to offer up think pieces on the city's future. If you're interested, and able, to view the Chron's behind-the-pay-wall call to arms you can find it here.
Go ahead and read it, I'll wait......
Back? Good.
Were I of the think-piecing proclivity I would probably consider offering up a suggestion to have rejected by Ms. Gray (who doesn't converse with me much other to tell me, on Twitter, how wrong I am). But, I've always wanted to pen a Dystopian fiction novel (My anti-hero would be brooding, and sultry, and left-handed) so I thought, why not, let's give it a go.
Without further ado:
"Houtopia: A city's tale."
"Shut up" he said as he slammed the snooze button for the second time.
Dick Stockton knew he had to get up, but he didn't want to especially. It was just another August day in Houston and at 6:00AM the temperature outside was already up to 98 degrees. Expected highs somewhere around 115 and thunderstorms in the afternoon. All of this to look forward to and Dick knew that his day would also be full of press conferences and trying to dodge the personal security of Mayor X, who have made it very clear they don't like questions.
Dick stretched and looked out the window of his company provided 20th story efficiency. "Shit, there's smoke coming from the Metro line again." "Is Metro on fire?" now had a Houston branch on Twitter and the result was usually "yes". Not that he blamed Metro CEO Jay Blazek Crossley however, after all, massive expansion of the light-rail system had brought total track mileage up to 42 (just a few more to 50 and "world class" status) but the city's refusal to approve a 187% tax increase to fund maintenance had left the agency cash-strapped and running out of ideas.
"Push the train" Thursdays didn't help, nor did "Get out and walk" Tuesdays as citizens were increasingly realizing that it's not ideal to perform vigorous physical exercise in near-100 degree heat shortly before going to the office.
Those who still worked in an office that is. Since the 2047 Nationalization act oil and gas jobs were few and far between, with the collapse of the private medical industry under "KanyeCare" due to an over-reliance on butt implants, Houston's job market was gutted. Everyone thought things would change if they could just build ANOTHER sports arena for the new professional handball team but that league folded after only four years and their new stadium was now a haven for cats and vagrants. It's too bad, because this really seemed like the shot-in-the arm that would salvage the economic hopes of the Sharpstown area as former mayor David Crossley promised.
What was left in Houston was a mish-mash of government, fast-food, retail and other assorted hospitality workers catering to the people who owned the businesses. Forget the income inequality that people griped about in the 10's, in the 60's the gap was a Grand Canyon. Dick had hope however because President Ashley Kutcher (formerly Ashton) promised she "had a plan" which she would unveil shortly after making her annual State of the Union speech at this year's Oscars.
Dick jumped in the shower and (just) managed to get the soap out of his hair before the mandatory :30 second timer stopped the water flow. He grabbed a handful of organic, free-range, fair-trade breakfast supplement flakes before heading out the door hoping that Starbucks still had some of the good cat-shit coffee from Malaysia left by the time he got there.
God it was hot. As he took the 22 flights of stairs down to the parking garage he knew that today wasn't going to be filled with good news. Mayor X had promised Houstonians a major policy announcement today that was predicted, though not confirmed, to be the finalization of his program designed to empty River Oaks of "those rich bastards", tear down their houses and replace them with government housing. Sure, there were questions how a broke, dilapidated city like Houston could afford to do this, but details weren't X's thing. The man could give a speech however.
As Dick unplugged his 2050 Tesla Musk (I can't believe the pompous bastard named it after himself) he knew that the time was coming for him to get a new model but, since the merger of Tesla and Chinese owned BYD the cars that were produced just weren't as good as his old, government subsidized rambler. Plus, BYD's don't look as cool. Oh well, for another time, for now Dick had to focus in to navigate the road in front of him. Traffic in Houston was always bad, but moving down Dallas Street to get to City Hall as almost impossible since the city ran out of public works funds, gave up, and converted all of the streets to dirt roads.
He knew this would be a 45 minute drive, at least, and that there was no way Starbucks would have ANY coffee left (they were only allowed to make 200 per day due to water rationing) by the time he got there. "Shit" under his breath, "this means that I'm going to have to drink the recycled swill that's free in the press pool." What Dick really wanted was a Red Bull, but those, and all other energy drinks, were outlawed to protect the people from themselves.
About an hour later, there was a 20 minute delay because a MetroRail car caught fire and went up in a ball of flames about 200 feet in front of him, he finally got to City Hall, stopping only for a minute to marvel at Mayor X's refurbished Hummer sitting on the lawn. It was painted bright blue, and looks as if it had just gotten new wheels, so it was clear the Mayor would be in a good mood this morning.
(Next: Chapter Two - The X-Man cometh)
