As is futurr ekonomika

Previously

…Walking home through the Old Town, the cobblestones slick with rain, I realized the patent had not changed me. It had only given me permission to be what I already was. A half-time worker in the economy of souls. Another face of compassion, carved from the same stone as the old Lithuanian trees by Lake Galvė, their roots tangled in the earth like ancient veins. I smiled, the rain starting again, and tucked the envelope into my coat. It was just paper. But it was mine. The streetlamps blinked twice, and the city breathed its damp, tired breath, as if approving my small, patented life.