I was in the city. No partiular city, just the city. Tall buildings everywhere, cars, concrete, glass and metal.

There had been a plauge, a virus had swept through the population. Those who had been through it were physically unharmed, but could no longer read or write. Most of them could not talk coherently anymore. (I did not come up with this idea, BTW, I read it in an SF short story a while back.) I had been spared.

Beause of this, there was complete chaos and breakdown outside. I decided that it would be wise to go armed. The gun that I had was patterned on a memory of a pistol that a friend had years ago: A beretta. I opened it up, flicked the safely and explained that I knew how it worked: "Sixteen in the clip and one in the hole". I said. In waking life I know that lyric refers to a glock not a beretta.

I stepped outside.