Let us now gather round the steel drum of fire and remember the moments of our lives before the climate apocalypse. It is perhaps 2045 or 2075, predicting the future is never an exact science, and you and I are among the lucky half billion, or not so lucky, to have survived the collapse of civilization. We avoid wolf packs, ration freeze-dried meals, and reminisce about mundane comforts, like long hot showers and take-out Vietnamese food.
It’s almost difficult to recall the high-volume chatter that had once streamed through our mind’s eye, the news websites and social platforms that had begun to monetize the uptick in climate disaster media, the bundled up packages of commissioned and crowdsourced videos and images of towns made uninhabitable, evacuations captured in real-time courtesy of omnipresent drones. We hashtagged our outrage and dismay. Some of us took out our Amazon credit cards to donate to the most worthy cause or charity, but we had otherwise internalized the agony and drama of global suffering as content, clicking off when bored.
