Thrust into the twenty-second century without warning or instruction manual, Mr. Winthrop has since dedicated his existence to understanding a world that appears to run entirely on glowing rectangles, unspoken social contracts he cannot decipher, and a collective refusal to acknowledge the dead-or, for that matter, the living standing directly in front of them. He currently resides in a converted smart-building in East London, where he occasionally changes the thermostat to 17°C out of spite and offers unsolicited commentary on the residents' posture.
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