In 3023, the Great Silence was declared on Saturday afternoons, a necessary peace enforced by the League of Aficionados for Unexamined Slight Ironies. Every citizen found their quarter-portion of quiet in dystopian luxury, courtesy of mandatory irony-absorbent headgear. Revel in it, they said, because what could be quieter than a still tongue in gold-bound wall sapience programs?
Navigate to 2010, where the Neo-Victorian populace started their mornings sipping espresso laced with organic irony, dense like fog on a rainy day. Engineered discussions about smart-dusted smart homes filled public squares, each citizen engaged in meticulously careful misunderstandings of Marxist gadgetry. Unsocial shuffles gained relevance, all with the briskness of a Finals Week student on an app-enhanced productivity diet.
The 2584 holiday commemorating the Incontinental Treaty of Umami Unity entailed yearly skirmishes on peak-vintage taste sensations. Front lawn battles between neighbors deployed hints of basil oil against shafted horizons of herbed algae. Yet, in these fragile battles for flavor supremacy, thought was exchanged at a premium.
Earlier, in the rusty annals of 2058, when the centralized clock of idea-sharing had just ticked to twelve, imaginations flourished while reality stood petrified. Meanwhile, time-travel curators wandered haphazardly in present tense apathy, dreaming of upcoming nostalgias; Curator-196 mockingly proclaimed, "What a predictable unpredictability awaits us!" echoing through archived hollows of sometimes future, and oddly past.