The bowl of rice can be white or take on the color of paella. It might be delivered to your table on a weekday as a side dish, or it might be served with onions fried in oil.
Nothing will change if you give that smile you gave the waiter, whether polite or, at other times, distant. On the Moon—when we live there, they’ll plant rice on the rolling hills from which you can see Earth—if they figure out how to get water there. And… on Mars, perhaps the rice will be dry and without pedigree, and maybe you’ll share it with some alien from the third level of the Andromeda Galaxy, who’s just passing through and smells of salt.
But if we push our grudge against this wonderful food brought from the Asian bubble a little further, we could also serve it on low-cost flights, as a complement to the dry sleep we take in the second hour before disembarking at an airport 100 km from where they’re waiting for us. Who? Well, they, the powerful owners of music (or love). All that will be left for us is to buy a postcard, put a stamp on it, and write:
“I was here and I remember you. Kisses.”
Note: By 2050, there will be no more postcards. We will instruct AI to create them and have them appear on the social media of our family and friends.
Deja un comentario