/lit/ - Literature

https://pastebin.com/ArFtzXDp

Could I get some feedback? I haven't really written scifi before. I dunno where it's going, but it's pretty fun to write.

Thank u anons

>>13358181
Ever since self-driving cars had been introduced, stop and go traffic was no longer a thing, but the increasing population led to over congestion of the road ways anyway, everyone moved at a constant speed of 5-10 miles.

Too many people in this world. If he didn’t make it in 2 hours to the party, the recipients would get a ten percent discount, and he would be getting his third strike against him. Es no Bueno, and Pomade fucking hated Buenos.

His Civic ripped through the access road and onto the freeway, heading to sector 46 of the north east side of Admiral Crunch’s Northern ex-TexanTerritory of the NUCC. Regularly an hour drive, but it was rush hour, every car was moving at a ripping four miles per hour.

Jesus christ’o fuckbois, how am I gonna get through this? He turned up his comm displays and rolled down his windows, an older technology not afforded in newer models. His speakers vibrated as on of his classic favorite dadrock came on over the pirated internet radio station he paid a monthly subscription for. It was Maroon 5. This shit was his jam, but he never would have let any of his friends, if he even had any – his Lip Service profile showed he had 72, most of which were from his first years of corporate self-paced educational supplementation that he didn’t talk to – know that he listened to such embarrassing and old muzak.

The ensuing gridlock passed by as if it was an old man in a constant state of inebriation, it continued living but without the need for purpose, feeling, or responsibility. He wasn’t staying on schedule. He needed to pop it in gearz.

He safely changed lanes eight times over to the far-left lane, bumped his car onto the barrier space, and sped down the way, surpassing the amorphous blob of self-driving drivel. Fuck yeah, 23 miles per hour, a personal best.

“Fuck-a-reeper, here comes your peperoni peeper!” he shouted in a holler, to himself, in his car.

Maroon 5 blared past all the boomerfied millennials, grey with age and lost hope, dreaming of change yet accepting their place in Admiral Crunch’s Northern ex-TexanTerritory of the NUCC.