Meanwhile in a completely unrelated parallel universe...

George sat and stared glumly out of the coffee shop window. He watched as the people scurried past trying in vain to reach their destination without getting 'too wet' whilst the rain began to fall. He warmed his hands on his Moccachino, knowing he would be going out there soon.

George Washington (no relation) was a very ordinary man. He had learned at an early age, along with everyone else on his planet, that life was to be spent working, adding to the Productivity. 'Nose to the grindstone' they would say, 'Work is freedom.' They never mentioned it's unfortunate consequences on society.

Now, at the ripe old age of 156, he was becoming tired. He should really take himself in for processing, but he felt that there had to be something better.

Processing was essentially optional, but there was very often no option for most. The System could not support their own unless they could provide productivity in exchange. It was simple economics.

He picked up the leaflet again, and perused it's contents a little more. The official literature for the Processing Centres stated, "End your life with dignity. Purchase the luxury process and your chosen next of kin gets a free premium process when their time comes!"

He sat drinking his coffee and reading for some time. The coffee shop Prime was beginning to get agitated at this client who seemed to be taking an awful long time to drink a coffee.

George gathered up his accoutrements and stood up. Putting his large jacket on, he walked out of the door, pulling his hood over his head.

The weather was awful, what had earlier been light rain had now turned into heavy rain, with dark, thunderous clouds hanging overhead. The rain struck his face, and the wind wrapped around him and attempted to push him in the wrong direction. George grimaced and crossed the road heading up towards his home in Greater Purpose. It was short walk, no more than a mile, perhaps less. It wouldn't take long.

Halfway through his journey, just after passing the park, the soaking George stopped.
"Fuck it," he thought, and turned into a small alleyway heading off from the main road.
He stopped at a non-descript doorway and knocked 3 and a half times. Eventually, the door opened a touch. A shifty-looking, unshaven fellow squinted and looked out.

"C'mon, Frank, it's me, George," George impatiently said, "It's pissing out here."
"Come in, George, come in," Frank opened the door and stood aside.
George bundled into the bar and felt a huge relief for some unknown reason (probably the heady scent of beer that hung in the air). He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the bar. Frank quickly closed the door behind him.
"Usual?" Frank said as he passed George and headed to the bar.
"Yes please," George acknowledged, "And I'll have a bag of peanuts too."
Frank was already pouring the pint, and reached behind him to get the peanuts. He threw the pack on the counter in front of George.
"That'll be 37CC's please"
George fumbled in his pockets for the change, he knew he could afford it, but it was all in the fiddly square low-value FQ's.

He put them all on the counter and raised an eyebrow at Frank.
Frank huffed, gave George his beer, and began counting.
A few moments later, Frank nudged George.
"Thanks," George picked his his remaining FQ's and looked around the bar for any familiar faces. It was very dark, and hard to see beyond the jukebox.

Bars on the planet Superbia had been outlawed early in their present cultures birth, it was said that the bars were serving drinks that could 'addle the brain' and 'stimulate conversation', and such things were unproductive to the whole. The authorities were of course fully aware of the illegal side-street bars that had begun appearing over the last 15 years.

However, they had become so bloated and apathetic from their years of luxurious living, they did not crack down as hard as they originally had in those heady days. In fact, a lot of the top hierarchy had their own private bars, with drink smuggled in, purchased from organised criminal networks.

George moved away from the bar and headed to his usual corner. As he passed by the other tables, he glanced at them, not recognising anyone. He reached his corner and was somewhat upset when he saw someone, or rather, something, sitting drunkenly in his chair.
"Hi George," said what could only be described as an inebriated zebra, "I'm Ed The Inebriated Zebra"
"Er hi," stammered George, "Erm.. "
"Sit down, I something important to tell you."
George sat down at the opposite end of the table to the inebriated zebra, and took a large gulp of his beer.
"How do you know who I am?" George finally summoned up.
"Sunshineface knows you." Ed pointed a drunken hoof at George.
"Who's 'Sunshineface'?" George was starting to become exasperated.
"Later, drink first."