Mood: Ferociously hopeful, buzzing like a perfectly tuned bass string. Come. Sit. Take a walk with me as I imagine the world I wish to live in. The rhythmic, oscillating thrum of rotors shears through the humid air. The scent of hot yeast and melted cheese arrives from the sky. I position myself on the porch. I listen to the delivery drone land. The payment is a quiet, decentralized transaction pinging in my ear. It is a currency mined by the hum of wind turbines, stripped of the heavy, scraping gears of corporate banks. And the air is thick, and...