A fifteen story tall post modern structure interrupts the seemingly endless plain of northern South Africa. In the near desert that was once Botswana, sheet metal shacks and small huts congregate around the monstrosity, like pagans bowing down before the blasphemy that defies the natural order of its surroundings. Paul walks through the market on his way to the bank. It has been a two day journey from the coast, and he is anxious to get there, but every step that brings him closer fills his mind with fear and paranoia. He stops at a venders cart and orders a beer. The dark skinned local pours a straw colored liquid out of an old plastic milk jug into a cup made out of a Coke can. Paul tosses a few Euros down and pounds the tepid brew. As he walks away he wonders if the fact that he didn’t regret wasting perfectly good money on that swill was proof that he really was an alcoholic.

The lobby of the bank was surprisingly cool, and clean. The center of the building was open, so you could see elevators ascending and descending, taking patrons to and from the offices that overlooked the lobby floor. People of all nationalities paused and enjoyed the refreshing atmosphere. After making a deposit or withdrawal, most of these individuals would have a long trek ahead of them. This place was an oasis in more ways than one. Paul took it all in for a moment before beginning his climb up one of the staircases. For some reason he was just not in the mood to take the elevator. He sighed as he took the last step onto the fourth floor. Hundreds of terminals with dark curtains suspended on what looked like circular shower curtain rods loomed before him. About a third of the terminals were in use and only about half of the clients cared enough to close the curtain around them. Paul waked by a fat middle aged elderly Korean man who was checking the contents of his digital safety deposit box. Apparently he felt no shame about retrieving his illegal Hentai, because he left the privacy curtain wide open. Paul cocked his head to one side as he walked by and watched the Asian’s monitor. He thought about informing the manga connoisseur that there were never actually any tentacle Digimon, but decided against it.

Paul smiled as he thought about the similarities between picking a terminal and picking a urinal. You should leave at least one open space between you and the next guy. He wondered if they thought about this when they decided how many terminals to install. He picked a suitable terminal and scanned in his thumb prints and entered his password before inserting his drive and uploading the key. There was no need to close the curtain. He was simply going to withdraw the file from the safety deposit and close the account – no need to view any of the contents here. After the download, he shoved the drive in his pocket and closed the account. As he started his descent down the stairs, he looked up at the executive offices on the higher floors. “What a shame,” he thought, “somewhere up there is Kevin O’Neil. Even though this is the first time in years that we are on the same continent, I have never felt so distant.” Paul grinned as he mulled over just how witty his thoughts were.