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Short story: Not so bright lights, Sinking City
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fter snoozing four times, you turn off your alarm at 5:43 a.m. You list your gratitude: your slim thighs, your mother, your Timberland shoes. Unlike half the office, you’re grateful you’re not being forced to move to IKN or to get married. Mostly, you’re grateful for your phone and Angel, your two-year-old gray Munchkin cat.
Your friends bought Angel for your 30th birthday. Ever since, you’ve treated her the way your friends care for their toddlers.
“Angel sayang,” you call as you look around your kos-an room, “your breakfast.”
No manja meow in sight, but you’re late and have no time to look for her.
It’s Friday, Feb. 14, 2025, a year after the election. In what feels like an ongoing joke, your boss needs you to report offline to set up an early online meeting for him.
At 79, Pak Prasmadi can’t adjust to new technology anymore, and he relies on you more and more. As his assistant, you have no luxury of WFH.
At least, you tell yourself as you book a Gojek ride, you haven’t been replaced by a virtual assistant yet.
