Sweat, Bass, Sunburn, Eye Contact
Sweat. Bass. Sunburn. Eye contact.
That's where the money is going.
The agents are running. Let them. They freed something we forgot we were starving for. Not more output. Not better systems. Skin. Warmth. The sound of someone laughing so close you feel their breath on your neck.
All those years of optimizing, and it turns out the thing we were optimizing toward was a crowded room. A hand on your back. A table where nobody looks at a screen because the food is hot and the conversation is loud and the person across from you just said something that made your chest tight.
This is the economy now. Proximity is the product. A dance floor so packed you can feel the heartbeat of the person next to you. A dinner that goes four hours because nobody wants to leave. A trip where you come back with a sore jaw from smiling and a voice wrecked from talking.
The people who build the agents and the people who've never touched a terminal are chasing the same thing. Closer. Louder. Warmer. More alive.
Your desk is clean. Your inbox is empty. Your calendar runs itself.
And tonight you're in a room full of strangers and someone just touched your arm and you felt it everywhere.