fragments from some sort of futurist fiction I should organize into a story someday (part 1 of many):
He awoke to the crashing of office equipment in the other room, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and noted the early hour of 9 on the clock above. She had been up at 5am, working diligently on business matters as she often does, getting half a day’s work completed before most people get out of bed. It had been a source of tension between them, her embracing the power of science to prolong her all-important workday, him embracing the comfort and solitude of unconsciousness. Who could have known an accidental lab discovery of an ionized poly-peptide bond would lead to the wonder drug Laxil? Who could have foretold the enormous effects the “Drug that eliminates laziness,” or know it would cause such a rift among the working class?
Ever since Laxil hit the market, the separation began; the dreamers stayed away while the go-getters gulped it down.