Good day,
In my dreams I am a tree in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The apocalypse itself was a slow fizzle by human standards, but to my contracted perception of time it was a flash in the otherwise constant gloaming hum of days and nights that bleed together. I lay down new roots in all directions, shearing off those which have consumed what meager nutrients remain in the scorched earth, and shifting my bulk toward untouched pockets. Mindless, I nevertheless have some systemic, ingrained (you'll get it) memories of a time when circumstances were better.
I've also decided to purchase only those things that, when consumed or broken, leave either no waste behind or waste that would be of some potential use to a hardened wanderer stumbling across it in a dump somewhere in the cold, dead future. This leaves me with few options, but I will try to make do for your sake, noble vagrant of the future.
Bon chance,
walter