Many years ago when I was a teenage pothead, I wrote my first short story, called "The Perfect Citizen" about a young man, Justin, living in a totalitarian society where every spoken word was scripted by the state and deviation from the script was absolutely forbidden. It opened at the family breakfast table where the four members of his family (Dad, Mom, Justin and younger sister) first pulled their scripts from the wall-mounted printer and then carried on a typical conversation that involved carefully reading their lines aloud for the benefit of the state compliance agents, who – because it...