Progress

                Thick smog wafted over New Galicia.  Julia shaded her eyes against the glare that bounced off white pavement and stepped out onto the street, mincing towards the nearest terminal.  The heat caused the air to ripple in mirage.
                Her neighborhood was tranquil, only a few people on foot and bikes, all in high spirits despite the weather.  Julia sucked in a gasp of refrigerated air as she stepped under the terminal arch and lined up to wait for the portal.
                When her turn came, she stepped into the booth, ran her universal card, and spoke her destination.  Tingling disorientation poured through her as manicured faux-lawns vanished and the hustle of businesses and boutiques sprang up in their place.
                Julia glided out of the booth towards the street, then paused, considering the clouds of pollution that covered this district.  With a sigh, she took a pair of sterilized screening glasses from the rack.  It wouldn’t do to see things.
                Tiny fragments of faces, people and disembodied hands floated like pollen, image residue from the teleport technology.  She flinched as half a poodle walked by and put on the shades.
                “And to think,” she said, “everyone was so sure it was cleaner than the automobile.”