In the future something will have happened. Patience will have again proven essential. Shelves will have been emptied - some never to be restocked Weighted blankets will have become heavier. Protection will still be sought in objects. Some of these attempts will have proven successful. Compression and release will have come in waves, unexpected and always familiar. You will have founding yourself deploying the Portuguese term “saudade” before knowing its meaning. Tunes will have been catchy. Steaks will have sizzled. Stakes will have been raised. Bargains will have been struck. You will have dreamed yourself in Tunisia at least twice. You will have said to a stranger “I must finally go to North Africa.” Bees will have pollinated. Flights of fancy will have departed never to land. Hate. free-floating and at times delicious, will have been accessed. NO FUTURO, ALGO TERÁ ACONTECIDO./ 2026 in SÃO PAULO (and other Brasil locations). Bliss will have continued to be ignorant, but on some days not quite so. The definition of working class will have become even more imprecise and contested. Things will have continued to be things in the world. Those things will have included: Bhutan, and neckties, walnuts, costume jewelry, rubber snakes and chickens, trees, sparrows. Madrid will have continued, and Sacramento California, drag racing, Tonga, free jazz, and the stock market. Fashion will have been fast, medium and slow. Bones will have been incised with the phrase “hotter, drier, clearer.” Animals will have been cornered yet remained calm. Glasses will have fogged. IN THE FUTURE SOMETHING WILL HAVE HAPPENED./ 2026 in CHICAGO (and other US locations) Someone will have said “I’ve got to hand it to you.” You will have asked yourself, maybe for the first time, what that phrase could possibly mean. Two French bulldogs will have again crossed your path. As will have two 5 year old girls who you hope will remain friends. New constellations will have been proposed.  Their agreed upon shapes will have been a chair, a housefly, a graduation ceremony.  There will have been nothing but bluebirds all day long. While unloading groceries from a car, you will have stopped and looked straight up.  You will have found yourself looking straight up for quite a long time. You will have wondered why you just stopped and looked straight up.  This could have been a dream or not. You will not have been able to remember which. Dogs will have pissed, had their day, and been left to lie sleeping. Sleepwalking will have become competitive.  Youths will have been misspent. Bombs will have been thrown. Legal fees will have piled up. Books will have been treasured.  Someone will have asked, “are you sure you want to do that?” Someone will have asked, “what’s not to like?” Friendships will have been incinerated.  The plays of George Bernard Shaw will have continued to exist.  As will  have printmaking classes, spaces of control (airport terminals, refugee camps, medical facility waiting rooms, etc.), haircuts, passwords, stemware, San Diego will have continued, as will skin tags, Lyotard, motherboards, laughing and bitter young men, misremembered chronologies, cocktails and platonic ideals. Branches and hairs will have sprouted.  Ideas will have bubbled up. Mistakes will have been made. Regrets will been sent. Invitations will have been withdrawn. Emotions will have been mapped. Naps will have been strategically and deliciously employed. Cakes will have been left out in the rain. Lives will have been saved, but not for long. Things will have continued to be things in the world.  Those things will include. Barbara Stanwyck, chicken sandwiches, ghosts, glowering, glass cleaner, screen savers, World War I, dinner parties, Gertrude Stein, hip hop, summer dresses, soap, leaves, and dry cleaning. Clarissa Dalloway will have wondered if she chose the right husband. Septimus will have convinced himself he is unable to feel.  Plotlines will have moved forward and backward in time while we remain in the continuous present. Someone will have asked “When does this start?” Someone will have asked “Am I in the right place?” Friends will have left for South America, or Milwaukee, or just to go to work. Things will have been scary, but we will still have had fun. Time will have flown. Albums and bombs will have been dropped. Bridges will have been built and burnt. Satisfaction will have been fleeting yet satisfying . Your physical boundaries will have melted. Cicadas will have buzzed and buzzed and buzzed and then they will have stopped buzzing. Respect will have been given, as will have help.  Someone will have said “that looks really good on you.” Someone will have said “let’s begin.” You will have replied “Ok.  Let’s” You will have been marked safe. Blinks, heartbeats, and breaths will have become standard units of measure. The present moment will have paused and invited observation. Soup will have been cooked. Comfort will have been provided. Your phone will have decided to no longer be your best friend. Things will have continued to be things in the world.  Those things will include: childhood friends, tea, funk, Richard Wagner, furnaces, Disney characters, serif fonts, video, cars, houseplants, enforced monogamy, drum solos, screen captures, dog packs, fanny packs and peppermint, nail polish, leaves, trundle beds, riddles, Perth, Clarice Lispector, the 19th century, waltzes, smoked paprika, fish, bad relationships, grandparents and snow. Pots will have been thrown. Plans will have been made and abandoned. Roots will have taken hold. You will have called a forest your home. Impulses will have been proven correct. Blondes will have had more fun. A lone vertical will have broken the horizon. Someone will have said “You should think twice about that.” Exit interviews will have been disguised as couples counseling. Your missing friend, collaborator, lover, brilliant goofball Bill will still haunt - mostly good way - but haunt nonetheless. Escape routes will have been sketched on napkins. Seed pods will have helicoptered to the ground. You will have been passed a handwritten note that reads:  “Come outside. I have something to show you” Your friends will have been waiting there for you. They will have staged a historical pageant in your honor. One by one they will have touched your face and then departed. Fingerprints will have become less unique. Ghosts will have given up. Glass will have shattered. Glasses will have been emptied. Glasses will have fogged. Clocks will have been punched. Goats will have been gotten. Coats will have been piled on the bed.