The wino drudges in the downpour, a bottle of cheap wine affixed to his lips. He tucks his coat close in and steadies his battered hat as he dodges the adverts.

The adverts swarm the wino, curling around his head like luminous sea creatures. Their sensors aren’t able to pinpoint the brand of the wino’s tattered trench coat, so the generic is advertised. Another advert conjures a smiling couple strolling in wine country. Sappy music comes from nowhere. This enrages the wino and he attempts to bat them away. An advert measures his blood pressure and records his body language to promote a combination heart disease and anger management courses.

A woman in designer clothes under a transparent umbrella passes the wino, and the adverts in a shoaling pattern populate her airspace with tinkling fountains of light from which emerge choice ensembles from the latest Zork Wang catalogue.

Praising his good fortune to be rid of these pests, the wino remarks under his breath, “That’s one thing the rich are good for.”