Freedom is Slavery...

Sitting in a fluorescent lit room in one of the many nondescript government buildings that dot the city, a man stares at his computer screen and clicks on his list of bookmarks. First one, then another, and then a third website appear on his screen in rapid succession. The routine for him now is such that he does this all without thinking. In many cases the sites have not changed a lot, but in a moment he comes across one which has just been updated again. He does not bother reading what has been written; all he knows is that this site is on the list. Once a site is on the list, it never matters what has been said, what thoughts are being expressed. All that matters is the list. Being on this list is all the incrimination needed. He clicks the link for the latest post, and the printer behind him jolts to life and begins spitting out a copy. He takes a drag from his cigarette, waiting for the paper to be free, and blows out the smoke as he takes it and adds it to an already thick folder, labelled "Maysaloon". He then moves on to the next website in his list.