It was a lush autumn night when Domesticles woke to the realization that he, and everyone else, was at the end of someone else’s bottom line. Even the fat cats in the high rise offices were pawns in someone else’s game, everyone was being used in this life of domesticity there is no avoiding it.
That he was long in service. In fact he was in service to the word service, as much as he was in service to the elites. Life was service. Living the domestic lifestyle that he was, his actions and thoughts were a constant service to lining the pockets of the retailers.
Matrices, much like a pyramid scheme followed his dollar up the food chain, wherein he could see not only the interconnection of things but also his own place in it, right at the bottom.
A bead of sweat formed. Needless to say Domesticles did not sleep very well.