A/N

This is based on a humerous email I recieved awhile ago that listed humerous signs observed. As such, I decided to make it into a oneshot, choosing Blade Runner as the medium. The Los Angeles of 2019 is marked by many things and the ammount of advertising, ranging from ads prompting off-world travel to Coke, is among them.


Bombardment

Walking through Los Angeles was never pleasant but even with the regular rain, it was a damn sight better than driving.

At least that was the view held by Rick Deckard, former Blade Runner and now just everyday guy in the sprawling metropolis. Walking for too long could cause an ache in one's feet and indeed, as a podiatrist's office said as he walked past it, time wounds all heels. Time however, was something that he had too much of and he'd rather spend it walking rather than being clogged up in a road car. Only the best and brightest were entitled to Spinners and while he had the potential to reach such a level, Deckard had no desire to get there.

Christ, is this rain ever going to stop? he wondered, looking down at a storm drain, chemicals flowing through it just as much as water. Almost as if on cue, two plumber trucks passed by, one declaring We Repair What Your Husband Fixed, the other stating Don't Sleep with a drip; Call your Plumber! He shook his head. Even in 21st century, man could still be swayed by appealing to his sexual preferences, the empty church he passed by standing as testimony to this. Not even the signboard stating that 7 days without God makes one weak had managed to attract a congregation.

Deckard sighed. Off-world there was plenty of stuff to do-settle a planet, making calls back to Earth, keep the Replicants in line… On Earth itself however, it was merely one day after the next, its people seeking all sorts of means to make it go by faster. Those smoking in a nonsmoking area were a stark example, the sign stating that If we see smoke, we will assume you are on fire and take appropriate action either not being noticed or simply being ignored. The former Blade Runner chose not to join them.

In one sense, he knew what he was looking for, namely a place to eat without having to wait for line in hours. On the other, he didn't know what he was looking for, an optometrist's office stating that If you don't see what you're looking for, you've come to the right place catching his eye.

Great, now the optometrists are mocking me, he thought bitterly, wondering how optometrists had even managed to stay in business. Nowadays, whenever someone had something wrong with their eyes, they'd usually replace them with electronic or genetically engineered ones rather than having their existing ones fixed. More expensive perhaps, but much faster.

A drone sounded, another advertisement for the Off-world companies penetrating the layer of noise that emanated from the city's streets. Deckard couldn't help but smile. Los Angeles meant "city of angels" and now finally the name bore fruit. For Earth's numerous desperate and dispossessed, the Off-World colonies were akin to heaven, the blimps of the various companies involved in space travel being heaven's proverbial angels.

Just as much light as angels too, mused Deckard, looking up at the night sky and, as usual, not able to see a single star. On average, a single American city used more electric energy than many Third World Countries. Sure enough, an electric company's sign reflected this:

We will be de-lighted if you send in your payment. However, if you don't, you will be.

Deckard never had much problem with his electricity bills, rarely having to turn the lights on in his apartment. The lights outside were so bright that it provided sufficient illumination.

But surely there was something more to this life, wasn't there? Deckard didn't know, a nearby noodle bar not taking his mind off the subject. Earth had gone to the dogs after World War Terminus, but surely life on Earth could be made just as good as the Off-world colonies? That's what the politicians had said…

Of course, that was hardly a reliable source of information. And as he sat down and began reading a paper while waiting for a free seat at the noodle bar, a septic tank truck rolled by on the street, its words confirming Deckard's feelings:

CAUTION-This Truck is Full of Political Promises