Thirty years in the future, you de-plane off of a long haul flight to the Far East. The air coming off the tarmac smells like a mix of salt-water and petrol, and all of the ground staff are wearing shades to shield their eyes from the setting sun.
"Aaah", you think, "it's so great to finally be able to stretch my legs. I can't wait to sample the local cuisine. And maybe buy a necklace at a folk arts store".
You amble up towards the terminal, taking in the mountains rising up from the peninsula at the end of the runway. As you contemplate nature's bounty, you are rudely bumped aside by a pair of security staff, escorting a bearded man towards the terminal. The man screams, and makes a lame attempt to break the cahins that bind his arms and legs. As he cranes his flabby neck to scream expletives, you double-take as the sigh of his face awakens something deep within your sub-conscious, the clammy mental cavern that holds all memory related to your snotty and indulgent youth, back when you were a music listener and a regular contributor to internet forums on bands and musicians. The man yells again, and as he does, chicken grease drips from his mouth into his beard. You remember him now. A figure from your past who inspired equal parts contempt and admiration. And now, reduced to...THIS.
― Nordicskillz (Nordicskillz), Monday, 31 March 2003 13:22 (twenty-three years ago)