It’s 2045. I have lived most of my life and finally understand a shared humanity beyond all opinions and ideological standpoints. I chat to a stranger at a park bench. He voted for Brexit and had a paid membership to the Conservative Party. I shrug my shoulders thinking about all the bad places my money went to despite my good intentions. He then shows me a haiku that is actually a seventeen syllable epigram with no seasonal reference. I stab him.