Pedestrians pointed, and I heard their complaints in the periphery: rich, useless you girls drunk already. There was no reason the limousine needed to be on the street—it could easily lift into the sky, avoiding congestion. Aircars were a luxury, even among the ultrarich—they could fly unpoliced above the masses and arrive at their party before they finished their drinks. The girls wanted to be in the crowds. They wanted the attention. “Get out of the fucking way!” some old man shouted and kicked at the limousine tire. The silver limo lurched forward, breaking through the foot traffic, and the girls within shrieked; I could tell by the set of their mouths, as their bodies swayed together from the momentum. The redhead then pushed her lips against the window, smearing the clear glass with the imprint of her mouth. She winked at me, and before I could react, the window was opaque once more, brightly lit with the moving image of the limo commercial.

I raised my fist, ready to pound on the glass, hard enough to scare the girl, to shock her from her comfortable stupor. But the limo had sped ahead, only to brake hard at a red light.

Forget it. Not worth my time.

“Eh!” The man who had cursed at the limo broke through my thoughts. “She wanted you for a boy toy.”

He laughed, spittle flying, and I was glad he stood a short distance away. You never knew what you could catch these days. Gaunt, with shoulders hunched forward, he looked like a grandfather. But he was probably in his forties. Dressed in rags, he shuffled toward me, finger outstretched, before a fit of coughing seized him. He doubled over, pressing both hands to his thighs, his body literally shaking from the episode. After what seemed like a full minute, the coughing finally eased, but he remained stooped, rasping, trying to catch his breath.

People steered clear of him, so it seemed we had an invisible barrier around us. Concerned, I took two steps toward him, battling my own fear of becoming tainted by his illness. But he held up his palm and fixed his sharp black eyes on me. They were wet from his violent coughing.

“If I were still young and a good-looking kid like you, I’d do it,” he said, voice grating. “Good money, good food, fun times.”

I laughed. It was short and humorless. “And be at a you girl’s beck and call? Be kept like some dog on a leash? No, thanks.” I took another step forward, my arm outstretched. “Uncle, let me buy you a hot drink. You should sit down—”

“Don’t come closer!” he shouted, his words thick with phlegm. “Are you stupid? I’m diseased. You want what I got?” He dragged a filthy sleeve across his mouth, muttering to himself before saying, “It’s easy to be idealistic when you’re young and pretty, boy.”