Dramatic Nerd

Good day, my friends. Today I find myself yet again in the valet booth of eternal silence. This Sunday saturninity has become a ritual, with the powers that be governing and always watching. The only link to civilization out of this prison of steel and glass is through a magic gateway created by the spellbinders in the land of "Pub", in the nearby kingdom of "Flannery's". Through this gateway I may hope to commune with the outside world, always reaching with desperate fingertips for those small moments that prevent my sanity from slipping deep into a chasm from which it may never return. Occasionally, I encounter the drones. Mindless, faceless automatons sent by the dictators appear in front of me, demanding that I accept something called "money" from them and operate their strangely familiar machines in return. I know how to operate these machines, which appear to be some sort of horseless carriage, but I don't know how that can be. As the cold autumn breeze bites through my meager uniform garments like unforgiving blades of ice, I can't help but feel as though I should know what all this means. Perhaps, as the midday sun reaches the summit of it's ascendancy behind the dreary clouds that cover the skies of the Land of Cleve, it will all come back to me...