A lonely walker stopped panting on an empty highway. On his back he had carried a motor lorry. It was relatively light - for a truck. But to transport it by hand for a long distance was definitely unbearable for an average man.
Nearby there was some monument, a flag and a bench. The man hesitated, but didn't dare to sit down. He rested standing with the burden on his shoulders. He knew for sure, he wouldn't rise again if seated.
Just to abandon the van was unthinkable. He was a salesman and had goods inside. Besides, he loved his car. He had owned it for a long time before it broke down.
Buying a new one was out of the question.
Prices were too high. People were too busy with surviving to buy his perfumes. Nevertheless, there were no talks about depression. Nether stagnation nor starvation was on the news. But any average salesman could see just looking around here: this society was seriously ill.
Over the highway were "glowing" invisible billboards, advertisements infiltrated directly to people's minds bypassing their eyes.
"One pill a day - keep all troubles away"
"Showering every day is bad for you! Save water!"
All of these ads were visible only for middle class.
Ultra rich usually didn't need pills. And undoubtedly were not worried about their bills. If they have a trouble, the government will take care of it.
These people didn't see advertising at all. They were blocking it, purchasing special subscriptions.
Extremely poor also didn't have to take any antidepressants. Nor they were worried about bills. The state supported all of them as if they had medical problems, but most of them were in good health. They were just lazy.
Annoying commercials have never reached brains of poor. Smart transmitters just ignored their thinking-only-of-food minds.
So-called middle-class had to carry its burden from one period of prosperity to another. In the past, politicians used to resolve all economic problems starting great devastating wars, but nowadays armed clashes did only worse. Money was spent for enormous armies, great repairs and numerous refugees as usual, but with no profit. Once wars were good for economy and society. Good times often came afterwards...
But the nature of fighting changed. It became endless and slow-burning, unlike old-fashioned "classic" wars.
The salesman looked at a town near the road. Countless advertisements. Lice killers. Antidepressants. Propaganda. Payday loans. Vacation credits. Of course, all of the ads were visible only by middle-class members.
On the outskirts of the town was some big supermarket. The salesman could not read its signboard, because of "burnt bulbs" in it. Figuratively speaking: it had no real bulb, similar to other advertisements it was brain-piercing. Besides, light bulbs had become everlasting long before the colonisation of Mars started.
The supermarket was so big, it even had a playroom for children. But the room had been closed long ago to cut the costs. Only its walls covered with bright paintings reminded him of its previous purpose. They were visible through wide dust-covered windows.
The salesman turned to the monument. It was the statue of dark-skinned very tall, gaunt creature. Martian woman mourning over her sons.
The wind-eaten national flag bangled in the still air of a perfectly terraformed planet.
The salesman swapped his head. He placed the real one to his backpack and connected another to his neck. This artificial head was good for his trade, but had a small and weak battery. For this reason, he was often forced to use his own head while charging the other. Basically, it wasn't bad, but had too many thoughts inside. The prosthesis lacked unnecessary thoughts. All it had was perfume commercials, price lists and a reminder to charge the battery