The Song of Synth

Markus has been asked by the Viborg Security Center to monitor Erewhon at first, just to check that everything was legit and then to protect it from hackers, pirates and desperados, because big corporations had sensed a profitable market and had moved in.
Only Cash and Credits were allowed. NoCreds couldn’t log in. And Credits had to obtain their bank’s permission in order to purchase. Nonetheless Erewhon was a fantasy that relieved people of their daily problems. The site was divided into regions, from the normal shopping mall to the exclusive, restricted VIP areas.
The official purpose was fun and business, in equal measure. Unofficially, it was mainly business, of course.

Yes, books were definitely friends. Like music. But he needed the weight of a good book in his hands now. Right now. He wasn’t far away from Books and Wonders, the cultural superstore, but he knew what downloads they had in stock. More precisely, he knew what they didn’t have.
They only carried bestsellers and classics with the academic seal of approval, not real literature.
No freaky, accidental, strangely assembled narrations.
Only well groomed stories, to please the majority of readers.
Not the stuff he liked, in any case.
Viborg City cared for its citizens. They shouldn’t read n’importe quoi.

The subway was packed and Markus found himself crushed against the window opposite the sliding door. Ten years already. Karen screaming in the bathroom. The Potemkin Crew. The guys, the compadres, the friends. A strange feeling of old-fashioned nostalgia swept through his body. Sehnsucht. He recognized the first symptoms of SYNTH withdrawal. The melancholy. The regrets. The illusions of the past. Sentimentality. Self-pity. A longing for nineteenth century poetry.