Acacia's financial worries subsided some when her first disability check, about a half-decade late, was deposited into her checking account. It was enough to make Acacia crack a smile and forget about finding some gainful employment. She gave Stone a quick salute, jumped into her truck, and made the short trek to Chama, where her local banking was conducted.
They were cutesy avatars that shape-shifted into humans, animals, or even inanimate objects, depending on the context. Most organizations these days interacted with one's nawal, instead of going directly to the person they were doing business with. Nawals informed other nawals, so that they could, in turn, inform their human companions of certain happenings. Nawals signed contracts with other nawals. It was all part of a middleman-ism aspect of the current economy. The Federal Reserve claimed joblessness and inflation were part of the past. The economy was healthier than ever. Wealth was to be had by all, and people were spending more (and more) than they did two decades before. But things didn't feel as they should.
Acacia Fone veered her old pickup truck from the winding state highway and onto the dusty gravel driveway, leading up to an abandoned trailer home. She slowed the pickup to a few feet away from the house and eased the truck into park.
“You’re driving too fast, Josephine!” her nawal exclaimed in a stern feminine voice the programmers, very possibly West Coast or even Texistan males, reserved for warning users about their dangerous (and potentially illegal) behaviors. It annoyed the hell out of Josephine. “State law prohibits going more than ten miles per hour over the posted speed limits, especially on gravel roads.”