Music Welcome to snoozecast. The podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find a set snoozecast.com and wherever you listen to podcasts. If you'd like to listen ad-free or or unlock our entire vast and snoozy catalog of sleep stories, go to snoozecast.com slash plus. This episode is brought to you by Stream Mind Travel. Tonight, we'll read a snooze cast original, Spandex Jackets, one for everyone. Listeners who are fans of Steely Dan may be aware that the title is a reference to Donald Fagan's 1982 track, IGY, What a Beautiful World. The story itself draws inspiration from the song, which pains a retro-futuristic dream of undersea rails, solar-powered cities, and the promise of a gloriously bright tomorrow. The acronym in the song title, IGY, references the International Geophysical Year, a real-life global scientific project that ran from July 1, 1957 to December 31, 1958. It brought together scientists from 67 nations to collaborate on studying Earth's geophysical properties, including its atmosphere, oceans, and polar regions. The International Geophysical Year marked significant advancements in space research, such as the launch of the first artificial satellites. Its spirit of international cooperation laid the groundwork for many subsequent collaborative scientific endeavors. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed.

Now, take a few deep breaths. Marissa Redfield had been born on the cusp of a new age, at least according to the classroom posters plastered around her old accraved school in 1957. Even as a child, she recalled bright glossy visions of monorails speeding across continents, trains zipping under the ocean, and silver-suited astronauts setting foot on space colonies. Bold, block letters proclaimed, the future is now. She'd spent her childhood devouring any scrap of science fiction that crossed her path. Eyes glittering in wonder at the idea of living to see those promises come true. Year after year, she'd waited. First, as a hopeful teenager, then as a skeptical college student, and eventually as an adult. By the dawn of 1976, however, it seemed the dreamers Utopia had indeed blossomed all around her, peace by peace. Now ateight, Marissa stepped carefully onto the platform of the Intercontinental Undersea Station on Manhattan's lower west side and felt her heart flutter with excitement. The station itself was a marvel of graphite and glass, built with sweeping streamlined arches that caught the sunlight from above. The light poured down a vaulted ceiling, designed to mimic ocean waves, an architectural flourish that felt simultaneously futuristic and welcoming.

Overhead, signs flashed with digital texts announcing arrivals and departures.

New York to Paris, boarding. Everything seemed to hum with activity and optimism.

Her train would depart in less than 10 minutes, so she forced her feet into motion, weaving around travelers wearing spandex jackets and vivid shades of blue, green and gold. The new uniform of the era, people joked, a garment that boasted comfort and aerodynamic style. Marissa had her own pastel blue jacket slung over her arm, having not yet decided if she liked the look. Still, Spandex are not. None of these details diminished the awe she felt at the station's innovative design. A hundred feet below street level, the entire facility harnessed solar energy piped in from above. Clever arrays that turned the scorching summer sun into a near-limitless supply of power. Almost everything in the city was powered by the sun now. From the glass capsule air taxis hovering above traffic to the personal computing devices that most citizens carried in their pockets. official name for this place was the transatlantic Maglev terminal, but nearly everyone called it the undersea gateway. Marissa found herself smiling at the same old vow, 90 minutes from New York to Paris. She showed her sleek polymer boarding pass to a uniformed attendant who waved her through with a polite grin and made her way to the platform. The train gleamed. A serpentine machine, tinted windows, and a subtle reflection of the overhead lighting. She felt the press of fellow passengers filing into the compartments, the whisper of a thousand conversations in multiple languages. on board. Marissa found her seat, stowed her small travel bag, and allowed herself to exhale with satisfaction. Every seat faced forward toward wide digital windows, simulations of the open ocean that would replace the actual blackness of traveling under the Atlantic. She quickly noticed that each seat had a built-in console for personal entertainment, research, or even quick global communications. Marissa tapped through the interface, scanning news headlines. Venus' colony plans accelerate with newly unveiled propulsion system. Ground breaking for second-earth orbiting wheel station to begin. Global weather patterns stabilize. Her heart surged at the positivity. Sure, the world wasn't perfect, far from it. But it seemed like in every corner there was hope and invention. As the train slid silently out of the station and began its descent beneath the Atlantic, the overhead lights dimmed, replaced by the gentle glow of ambient panels lining the compartment, a voice chimed over the speakers, a pleasant control toe announcing that the train had reached full speed. Marissa took a moment to reflect, letting her mind drift through the swirl of memories of how the world had gotten here. Her earliest recollection of the International Geophysical Year was of standing in her school gymnasium, a hushed crowd of students wearing wide-eyed expressions as they listened to visiting scientists, talked about a bold campaign to coordinate research across the globe. As a child, Marissa hadn't understood half of what they said. Something about ocean currents, something about sending satellites into orbit. But she had understood the excitement in the grown-up's eyes. The sense of a bright future on the the horizon. Teachers spoke of a world unified in exploration bound by curiosity instead of fear. She remembered the wide banners that read Igy working together for a bright tomorrow. In the next two decades, the seeds planted during that wave grew into tangible transformative achievements. Nations, once fiercely competitive, recognized that collaboration was more fruitful than conflict, particularly in science, technology, and humanitarian goals. That ethos crept into daily life, where the new watchword was conserved and create. But it wasn't just the heads of states that had changed. The average person, artists, teachers, mechanics, administrators, had discovered a new kind of personal optimism. A genuine believe that each new day brought the promise of improvement. Urban planners designed cities around people. Agriculture underwent a revolution in sustainability. Fueled by sunlight, water reclamation, and advanced hydroponics. It was an era in which dreamers and doers aligned to reshape the social fabric. Marissa's own job reflected that spirit. She was a writer for City of Tomorrow, a digital magazine dedicated to exploring and celebrating these advancements. Her assignment for this journey was an in-depth feature on the undersea maglev route. It was the tenth such line built under the Atlantic, but the first that offered service from Manhattan to Paris. Those behind the project were already eyeing expansions, making a ring around the entire earth no less. She would have laughed at that notion 20 years ago. But now, maybe it was possible. The trains lit effortlessly through the transatlantic tunnel and the simulated windows displayed a graceful sweeping panorama of fish, whales, and multi-colored corals. The display, of course, was not an actual real-time feed. No camera could keep pace at these speeds, but it was built from real footage captured by submersibles that lived in the ocean waters above. Occasionally, an interactive element popped up, naming certain creatures swimming past the glass. Marissa could see a group of children a few rows ahead, pressing excitedly at the consoles, playing an educational game about marine biology. That was something else she loved about this new era. The easy-melding of education and exploration. After a few minutes of quiet reflection, she felt a familiar presence slide into the empty seat next to her. She turned to see Armin to Choi, fellow journalist, frequent partner in crime, and long

time friend, flashing his trademark grin.

Fancy meeting you here, he said, pushing back a lock of hair that had strayed from his

perfectly combed style? He wore a slick Spandex jacket in bright copalt with silver piping. Also headed to Paris, I see, Miss Redfield. She smirked. Armin, I'm always headed to Paris. I think I spend more time in that city than New York. They exchanged easy laughs. He explained that he too had been assigned to report on the route inaugural run. I'm focusing on the angles related to tourism. He said, tapping the console to bring up some of his notes. Marisa nodded. They chatted for a time, then settled the back as a gentle hush fell over the cabin. The lights dimmed further, and an announcement floated overhead. Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to pass the halfway point in our transatlantic journey. The next 30 minutes will be a smooth ride. Please enjoy the comfort of your seats, and if you'd like, you can switch your window to a variety of scenic displays. City skylines, farmland, or cosmic fiestas, the voice paused politely. Thank you for traveling with us on this historic day. The hush that followed felt tinged with collective wonder. Armand had closed his eyes, possibly napping. Marissa quietly called up some notes on her console. As she surveyed the typed lines, bits of background on the route, quotes from top engineers, historical tidbits, her mind wandered to the bigger story. The story of how the world had arrived at this moment. Not through a single invention or political act, but via a mosaic of small steps, driven by a belief that tomorrow could, indeed, be better than today. They arrived in Paris with hardly a bump, barely a squeak of breaking. The overhead lights rose in a careful gradient, and the digital windows showed an animated daytime skyline of the city of light. Marissa and Armin stepped off the train onto a platform that looked like a sister to the one in Manhattan. The same sweeping architecture, the same glass ceilings funneling sunlight from the surface above. If the New York station was the undersea gateway, the Paris terminal was Guiana Tique. The air felt fresh, carrying a hint of breezy ocean salt. A transport pod carried them swiftly up to the surface, emerging near the Eiffel Tower. On this warm day, the tower glistened with newly installed panels hidden along its metal framework, quiet homage to the marriage of old and new. Paris, as always, was alive with sidewalk cafes swirling bicycles and, and pedestrians. The buildings, though centuries old, had retrofitted exteriors with vertical gardens, in the occasional shining mirror to reflect natural light deeper into the streets. Morrison, armoured parted ways after exchanging a few parting jokes. They were both scheduled to attend the official press conference featuring the Roots' key architects, a group of engineers and scientists hailed as modern heroes. Marissa couldn't help but notice the serenity that had become so commonplace. The clean, crisp air, the boulevards absent the grinding roar. Vehicles in the city center float it silently. Many of them part of a shared system that citizens could summon with a quick flick of their handheld devices. The hum of conversation drifted across sidewalk cafes. And the local news scrolled on a large display board. Marissa stopped for a bite to eat. The pastry arrived, flaking and warm, and Marissa allowed herself a moment of simple pleasure to bite into the almond filling. She took a few mental notes for her upcoming article. She lingered for a moment before departing. Her next destination was the press center on the other side of the river, a short walk along the picturesque waterfront. She spotted a group of tourists piling into a glass walled hover shuttle for a city tour. And overhead, she could just barely glimpse the line of the orbital elevator, a slender structure that extended from Earth to the rotating wheel station far above. It was a new addition to the skyline mesmerizing in its grace. In the distance, giant digital banners displayed images of erotating habitat ring shimmering against the blackness of space. The press center buscled with energy as she arrived. Giant screen showed the maglev route's final approach times. While reporters from around the globe checked in for their press batches, photographers with advanced camera equipment hovered near them, capturing the swirl of the scene. She spotted Armin across the lobby, chatting animatedly with a group of engineers. A table stood at the front, lined with microphones, and a few chairs where officials and scientists would soon speak. The conference was illuminating, and the scientists and officials provided many answers that helped Marissa flush out her article. That evening, Marissa strolled alone through the moonlit streets of Paris. In that quiet moment, the memory of an old lyric echoed in our mind. What a beautiful world this will be. Sure, there were still problems to solve. New challenges that sprang up with each stride forward. Complex complexities in balancing technology with tradition.

But as she gazed out over the softly glowing city,

she believed that the world was finally learning how to harness its collective brilliance

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