Welcome to the future.
But my future is not the same as yours.
Your weight is now your weakness: times have changed.
My army of one laughs disdainfully at your decadent empire.
You speak to your disbelieving customers with a megaphone.
I listen to them with a microphone, grasping a different world.
You fight each other in meetings to keep your dead jobs intact.
All the while, I continue to dream, design, execute, and ship.
You wonder why your salesmen have stopped closing.
I wonder why there are so many market gaps open.
You idly muse about what the future might hold.
I’m too busy inventing it to care.
You are the roadkill.
I am the car.