6:00 a.m. Can't sleep in. My wife's away on business but has beamed in a holographic projection of herself to nudge me awake.
6:05 a.m. E-mail scrolls across the bottom of my shaving mirror. I cut myself, twice, after reading that my holographic boss, Bob, wants to see me first thing. I wonder if Bob has a bug.
6:15 a.m. My shower notices my scalp is a little dry and suggests using a moisturizer. (Hair, incidentally, is no longer fashionable. Lucky break for me.)