shoes on, plastic insole rubbing rough against the pale skin of his feet.
“The threat of prison might work on you, on most people, but I see people struggling every second of their lives, still stuck living on the streets. I look at all these poor assholes going to the same job they hate every day of their lives, and the reality of that is just as bad.”
Troy shook his head sadly, his brows furrowed. “That’s life, Jules.”
JD shrugged. “Why? It’s a shitty life. You’re lucky because you love teaching, and I love that about you, but how many other people can say the same about their jobs?”
Troy sat on the edge of the couch, resting his hands on his knees. “How many times have we had this same fight?” he asked, one corner of his mouth curved in a partial smile.
JD put his baseball cap on and pulled it down low. He unlocked the front door and rested his hand on the door handle. “A dozen times, easy,” JD said.
“And it always ends with you leaving.”
“One way or another,” JD said. He looked to Troy and the other man lowered his eyes.
“Will you really go legit, with your hundred thousand euro?”
“I don’t know,” JD admitted. “I need to find a specialist for my knee, get the surgery, cover Mom’s bills while it’s healing. I’ll have to wait and see how much is left after all that.”
Troy nodded. “So you were lying the other day? Telling me what I wanted to hear?”
JD opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. “I want to be the person you want me to be, but I’m not.”
“Let me help you try,” Troy said.
JD pulled the heavy door closed with a resounding dhoom, putting the city between them.
* * *
JD walked for blocks with little but the constant beating of the rain to keep him company. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his windbreaker, fingering the near-empty envelope of cash. He had kept a hundred euro for himself when he paid off the cleaner, and after the fight with Troy he felt like spending it on something frivolous. Two blocks from the technopark, with an hour and a half left to kill, JD spotted a Last Beans café. He let his hunger and sore knee drag him toward the franchise, skull logo leering at him with coffee beans for eyes.
He swiped his bankcard at the door, but the system beeped sadly and denied him entry—apparently it found his financial situation, his credit rating, or his entire identity somehow lacking. He thumped on the window and pressed the hundred-euro note to the glass, his body blocking the view from anyone passing behind.
Eventually the manager manually opened the door and let him inside, bowing and smiling in the eager way of someone who knew how to survive on tips. She showed JD to a table by the window, and took down his order with a stylus over a small tablet, wrapped in a case designed to make it look like an old-fashioned notepad—nostalgia fetish written into the chain’s DNA.
The heating was cranked high against the damp weather, and condensation fogged the windows. Outside, clouds hung low and dark, broken up only by the wisps of white that hid surveillance apparatus, as though the city refused to admit the clouds could ever be gray over Neo Songdo.
As he watched one white cloud drift by, the soft body of its Augmented cover flickered and disappeared, revealing a ball of cameras held aloft by a dozen rotors large enough to threaten birds. JD had never seen one of these multifaceted eyes, only the simple quadcopter drones that hovered over the outskirts. His brow creased in confusion, but his thoughts were interrupted by the clank of a plate hitting the table. With effort, JD took his eyes off the outside world to acknowledge the staff delivering his breakfast. He tried on a smile, but the server rolled his eyes and returned to the counter, leaving JD alone.
The poached eggs were rubbery, but the sourdough bread was warm and slathered with butter—real butter. That pale yellow dollop, slowly melting as it slid down the toast, caused JD to briefly question everything he’d eaten up to that point. It was a simple flavor, but so much richer than the butter substitutes he’d tasted before. How little of what they ate could compare to the real thing?
JD sipped his coffee—a short black, with hints of hazelnut and a heavy-bodied aroma—and