“A yo, Michelle was gonna beat on Barack for tak­ing dat self­ie with dat chick at the Man­dela wake! What­e­va da fuk a self­ie is! What’s a self­ie, some type of bailout?” yelled Don­tay from the kitchen, dump­ing Utz chips into a cracked flow­ery bowl. I was plac­ing cubes into all of our cups and equal­ly dis­trib­ut­ing the vod­ka like, “Some for you and some for you …” “What the fuck is a self­ie?” said Miss Sheryl. “When a stu­pid per­son with a smart­phone flicks them­selves and looks at it,” I said to the room. She replied with a raised eye­brow, “Oh?” It’s amaz­ing how the news seems so instant to most from my gen­er­a­tion with our iPhones, Wi-Fi, tablets and iPads, but actu­al­ly it isn’t. The idea of infor­ma­tion being class-based as well became evi­dent to me when I watched my friends talk about a weeks-old sto­ry as if it hap­pened yesterday.