Omar Saleh–or his ghost, or his simulation, his deepfake, whatever it is–drags me onto a train. I’m too shocked to ask what he’s doing. Grinning like a kid showing me his bedroom, he pulls me to the back of the carriage, opens the door, and we walk onto a grassy plain with tree saplings spilling shade-patterns on our faces, gentle rolling grass hill with a slide on top and a fort to climb.
Samuel Miller Reserve! Oh my God! My friends are here–we’re picnicking, this is paradise. I’ve stumbled into heaven.
Well, not heaven. I’ve stumbled into Moneyland – which turned out pretty much the opposite of heaven.
‘Big Channyboy’s been waiting to catch up with you,’ Omar says, ‘Your friend Es, KT–
‘Why helloooo, dahling,’ KT says, kissing my cheeks. She’s reclining on a pool lounger while Fatima
