I always wanted to know more about the future. So when a lame antiquarian offered to sell me a so-called box of futures, I did not hesitate very long.

Of course he wouldn’t let me look inside, but I inspected the outside carefully before purchasing it – I am not an idiot. The box seemed authentic enough. Also, the price was very reasonable for such a rare object: about one month of salary. I went to the bank and paid the man cash.

I left the shop with my box in a bag. My box of futures. I felt a bit anxious. Futures can leak easily, and putting them back inside isn’t something just anyone can do. I was so afraid of the jolts of mechanical transportation that I decided to skip the metro and walk home. It was a long walk.

It has been a while now, and the box is still closed. I must admit that I’m afraid to open it. It’s such a serious decision.

But I spend a lot of time looking at it.

I enjoy it more and more, putting the box on my little table, sitting on the sofa, and staring at it, thinking of all those futures tumbling inside.

Because of that new hobby of mine, I have stopped seeing my friends so often. I also neglect my family, and find it difficult to make time for work. But I guess it’s OK. I stare at the box and I know it’s OK. I don’t even need to open it anymore. I know. My whole future is in this box.