Net slid his key into his dorm room door, hoping for it to be a single, but it wasn’t. His brother was right—College freshmen never got singles. There was already a bag on the other bed, and it looked as if it had been slept in, so he figured his roommate had been there a few days already. He dropped his bag onto the other bed and looked out the window. The view wasn’t very nice, with looking over the rest of the college campus. He pulled off his jacket, it was only fall, but the ocean breeze made it cooler. He was in Maine, right where his father had attended. He wasn’t too happy about their weak art division, but he had to go there. He noticed a bunch of wires hanging out of the bag, and he couldn’t help but think he’d be boarding with a nerd. He walked out of the room and out onto the campus, only to see someone smoking right next to the dorm house door. “That’s going to kill you,” he said. The guy looked up at him, and didn’t look much older than he. “The economy is going to kill us.” He replied back, and took another drag from the cigarette. “What ever. Do you know where the coffee shop ‘round here is?” The guy looked up at him again, then pointed straight across. Net walked away, still confused on what the guy had said. Sure, the economy was bad after G’oron had sent those who were unemployed as troops into the Middle East, but really. That meant no one could get fired, and those who didn’t have jobs were taken care of. Net’s dad had been one of the unemployed a few years back, and wasn’t coming back thanks to a roadside bomb. He and his mom always hated Bush for starting it, and here they were, twenty years later. World War One all over again—if you were over eighteen and unemployed or not in school, you were in war. Net ordered a cup of coffee and a pastry from the counter, and looked out to see the guy gone. He sipped the foul stuff. Most coffee was fake because so much farmland was turned into cities, that hardly anyone grew actual coffee beans anymore. Hardly anything was natural anymore. Gas was gone, so the few cars there were tended to run on electricity, but they were so expensive that most people walked or biked. He looked up at the blue with a tint of brown sky, wondering if the sky was always somewhat brown from pollution. A second depression had happened in 2010, and most things had been destroyed in riots, or for use. Net was born just after it had ended, luckily for him. He walked back into the dorm house and went to his room, but the door was locked. He felt his pockets for the key, but remembered it on the bed. He knocked with his free hand. The door opened shortly after, by the smoker from before. “Great.” He mumbled, walking into the room, but leaving the door open. Net went in and set his coffee and pastry on his desk, watching the other guy crawl around the room, looking for something. “I’m Net.” He said, but didn’t expect a response. “Mac.” He said, scowling. “You mean like the computer?” he turned and glared at Net. “Yes, like the computer.” Net muffled a laugh. “Why would your parents name you that?” he asked. “My parents were shipped off to Middle East just after I was born. They didn’t name me.” Net cleared his throat, feeling a little bad for having brought that up. “Who named you then?” he took a sip of his coffee. “My Grandma. Grandma said her older brother owned Mac, he started it or something. So, I’m Mac. Now help me find a phone jack,” he said, after searching his side of the room. “Why?” Mac turned o him and glared. “I ordered Internet the other day for our room, and I have the modem. It can’t work unless it’s hooked up to a phone line. Do you know anything about computers at all?” Net stuck his tongue out behind Mac. And looked around a little. “Found it.” He said, underneath his desk. Mac swore under his breath. “Switch me sides?” Net shrugged and threw his bag onto the other bed, as Mac carried his stuff over. He pulled out a box and started plugging in wires to the phone line, outlet, and his laptop—a Mac, “So is your full name Macintosh?” Mac turned and glared. “No. Just Mac, now drop the conversation.” He crawled back under the desk, plugging a yellow wire in. “So what are you majoring in?” Net asked after a while. “Computer and technology, duh,” Net sat on the bed and leaned against the wall. “Art here.” Mac seemed to perk up at that. “Oh? You any good?” he asked, but was still involved in his wires. “Yeah. I’m on scholarship for it.” Mac nodded and opened his laptop, setting up the rest of the Internet from there. “Why do you think the economy will kill us?” Net asked after a while. “Because everything has its price. It costs something to make something. It costs something to kill something. It costs something to do anything now. Makes you wonder what it was like before we were born—If so much stuff hadn’t been lost in 2010.” Net took a bite of his pastry. “Smoking is till going to kill you.” He said. Mac looked up from his computer, annoyed. “McCain made ‘em take out all chemicals in the depression. It’s his darn fault my parents are dead—Obama should’ve won.” Net shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m tired.” He complained. “What province are you from?” Mac asked, typing quickly. “ Dakota, you?” he asked. “Alaska, but I moved to Washington when I was eight.” Net nodded, running his fingers through his hair, and noticing he and Mac had the same color, Black. Net laid down on his bed, only to quickly fall asleep.