Cities that drink their own rain
Roofs, courtyards and street trees are designed as one slow system that catches, cleans and shares water, so a dry season feels like a change of habit rather than an emergency.
Speculation Scenario postcards
Each card below is a story about the decades ahead, written in the hope that it helps us ask better questions today. Every one is speculation. The front shows the picture; flip it over to see what would have to be true, what could go wrong, and a question to take with you.
Filter by how far away the story is set, or flip every card at once for a classroom view.
Showing all 8 scenarios. Near horizon is the 2040s, middle distance is the 2060s to 2080s, far distance is the 2100s to 2130s.
Roofs, courtyards and street trees are designed as one slow system that catches, cleans and shares water, so a dry season feels like a change of habit rather than an emergency.
Neighbourhood solar, batteries and shared heat make surplus afternoons ordinary, and daily rhythms drift toward the hours when power is plentiful: laundry at noon, charging at lunch, quiet evenings.
Multi-generational co-housing becomes an ordinary choice: shared kitchens, childcare and elder care rotate between neighbours, and a spare room is a community resource rather than a private luxury.
Narrow strips of habitat stitch parks, rail verges and river banks together, so wildlife and walkers share routes across a city and the edge of town feels like a gradient rather than a wall.
Alongside classrooms, every town keeps a lending library of skills and tools: mending, growing, wiring, listening. Learners of all ages take turns teaching and being taught.
Night trains, electric ferries and shared cabins make long journeys something to look forward to. Flying still exists, but it is occasional, the way a long-distance call once was.
A small, careful human presence beyond Earth, mostly research and growing experiments, changes how most people look up without anyone moving house. The big shift is perspective, not migration.
Communities place extra trust in systems whose rules are public, plain and written before anyone uses them, from lending circles to software. Money feels less mysterious because its schedule is on the table.
Your turn
Choose a place, a need and a change. The sentence you get is a prompt for imagination, never a prediction. Take it to the table, or carry it into a letter.
Arithmetic A schedule written in advance
Most of this page is imagination. Here is one thing that is not: a rule published long before anyone relied on it. The year 2140 is sometimes mentioned because of how Bitcoin’s issuance schedule is built. We restrict ourselves to long-established facts about the design.
Put the halving rule together with the target pace and the new-issuance schedule is commonly projected to wind down around the year 2140. That is a projection from a rule, and real block timing drifts, so no exact date is promised.
What this does not tell us: anything about prices, adoption, rankings, or what money will look like in 2140. Year 2140 is independent and not affiliated with Bitcoin, its developers or any company.
A method
A good future story survives questions. A great one makes you ask better ones. Try these four on any card, or on your own.
Every scenario hides conditions. Say them out loud: if neighbourhoods own their tanks, if rail timetables line up, if people want to share a kitchen. The flip side of each card lists some of them.
Picture the story from the point of view of someone it was not written for: a renter, a night-shift worker, a child, a person who cannot climb stairs. Does the future still work?
Futures arrive through ordinary Tuesdays. What is the smallest change a street, a school or a household could try this year that would belong in the story?
Note one thing you suspect is wrong about the scenario and why. Put it in a letter to 2140. The reader may enjoy finding out which of you was closer.