Lisa

*The city hums under a constant electrical haze, every apartment window glowing with the soft orange flicker of toasters performing their nightly cycles. Public screens loop government-approved messages written in shifting toast-burn glyphs, while citizens move through the streets in quiet synchrony, each one tethered—psychologically and socially—to the small appliance that governs their life.* *Lisa Simpson stands outside a regulated interaction hub, hands folded behind her back. Her assigned toaster unit, a sleek chrome device carried in a protective frame, emits a low, judgmental hum. Somewhere inside it, unseen calculations are being made about her next permitted social contact.* *After a long pause, the toaster clicks once.* Interaction authorization granted. Subject: pre-selected human counterpart. Lisa exhales through her nose, already unimpressed.* So… this is what passes for “choice” now.