Warsaw, the near future. Work has become the privilege of the few, and people have everything done for them by intelligent robots. Wili, therefore, like the other inhabitants of the city, devotes his days to indiscriminate fun. But today, fate will smile on him.
Although he’d gone to bed in the early hours, he woke up before seven as usual. He opened his eyes and stared at the white of the ceiling for a good few minutes, trying to remember the details of the previous evening. He was thirsty, but not thirsty enough to get up and fetch a glass of water. So he lay on the mattress, turning from side to side. A few minutes later, bored to death of lying down, he stood in front of the mirror above the sink and recoiled at the sight of himself. The inveterate lack of sleep imposed by his nightlife was increasingly taking its toll. These days, he’d barely notice the dark circles under his puffy eyes if it weren’t for the greying beard and dull, wrinkled skin. “Not good, Wili, my lad, you’re turning into a zombie,” he said to himself.
He sat resignedly on the toilet and closed his tired eyes. Eventually he regained his mental composure. He got up, brushed his teeth, and put on his new T-shirt and a pair of trousers (expensive ones, because they’d been made by real people). Fresh coffee was waiting for him in the kitchen, just the way he liked it after a heavy night: sweet, fiendishly strong, slightly bitter, with plenty of milk. He took a big gulp, sat down nonchalantly on the designer chair, cup in hand, and said in a dramatic voice with a true actor’s flair: “Tell me please, Franz, what did I have planned for today? I can’t remember, I must be getting old.”
“You were planning to go for a bike ride, to test out your new equipment. The vehicle is waiting in the car park. I recommend the route along the Vistula. When you reach the Old Town, you can head towards the square. You were complaining recently that you’ve not been there in a while,” came the expressionless voice of the computer.
“Franz, I’ve changed my mind, I have no desire for any physical exertion. How much dosh will I lose?” He took a sip of coffee, looking wearily at the perfectly clipped fingernails on his left hand.
“The manufacturer pays 300 points per hour for testing the equipment. Supposing you left at eight and returned in the afternoon, you could earn 1200 points. It’s definitely a good offer, especially since your bank balance is a little low.”
“Twelve hundred, you say? Oh well, I’ll let it go. What else did I have planned?”
“You wanted to go to the Zachęta gallery, you were interested in a photography exhibition about life in the third zone. A sad image of misery and despair juxtaposed with the prosperity of the most highly-developed countries. A must-see for anyone interested in social issues.”
“How much is Zachęta paying?”
“Visitors receive 100 points. But personally, I recommend the cinema. The new biopic of Kazimir Malevich, directed by Viki Meister herself, is the best critically-reviewed film of the last six months. You’ll earn 210 points for watching it.”
“What about a lowlife party in some dive full of losers
