In the future, Steve sat in a roadside cafe in Essex with Nashaun. They were on their way back from a painting job. Steve had a bun, they both had tea. It was so far in the future that no one ever died or felt really old. Most people ended up looking about fifty. They were talking about birthdays. “I remember my fiftieth, and my fifteen-hundredth, but not really any others”, said Steve, who was one-thousand-seven-hundred-and-thirty-four. A young man was celebrating his ninetieth with a group of other lads around a table by the door. (They were going on a road trip to the new Minion World that had replaced Myanmar recently. Minions are really not going away in the future, they actually get way more important). A bit like kids with Santa Claus, people grew out of yearly birthdays and just celebrated one every ten years or so. Steve said, “remember that time we saw Kylie Minogue’s hologram performance at Lewisham VR Arena?” Nashaun said no.
“Remember when everyone did their hair like that?”
“No.”
“Remember real leather?”
“No.”
“Remember vegans?”
“No.”
“Remember Tangfastics?”
“No.”
“Mmm… remember monkeypox, though?”
“A bit.”
“Corrr, lentil crisps, remember them?”
“Not really.”
“Remember Ant and Dec?”
“No.”
“Remember Iphones?”
“No.”
“Remember Simon Cowell’s final car chase on the news?”
“No.”
“Remember trousers?”
“Not much.”
Steve looked at his sad bun. “Yeah mate, me neither. I don’t really remember anything.” Nashaun smiled and turned to look out the window. He didn’t mind not remembering. Life was ok. They finished their teas and stood up. “Happy birthday mate, have a great second century.”, said Nashaun as they passed the lads table on their way out. “I wasted mine on booze and fags”, he said to Steve. “Still, you’ve got to give yourself time to make those mistakes when you’re young.” As they started the car, through the cafe window they saw the ninety year old bowling out of the bathroom with coke all round his nostril, going weyyyyy to his mates. “Ah, to be young again…” said Steve.
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