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“Heroin,” declared Durius Walker, Rydell’s colleague in security at the Lucky Dragon on Sunset. “It’s the opiate of the masses.”
“No,” Tessa said, “you’ve got it exactly backwards. People don’t know what they want, not before they see it. Every object of desire is a found object. Traditionally, anyway.”
This place really smelled like a bar: stale beer, smoke, fry grease, sweat. She remembered the first bars she’d ever gone into, places along rural highways back up in Oregon, and they’d smelled like this. The bars Carson had taken her to in LA hadn’t smelled like anything much. Like aromatherapy candles, sort of.
Spends a good long time by the machine that makes magazines, watching screens, all the different shit you can get put in your magazine.
The future of publishing, via 1999.
The Gunsmith Cats alarm watch taped to the wall of Laney’s box brings him home from the Walled City. It buzzes to announce the Suit’s impending arrival. The Suit has no watch of his own but is relentlessly punctual, his rounds timed to the clocks of the subway, which are set in turn by radio, from an atomic clock in Nagoya.
Perfect scene, the watch, to the station clocks, to the Atomic Clock in Nagoya.
“People are frightened of nanotechnology, Noriko. We know that. Even in Tokyo, seventeen-point-eight of your markedly technofetishistic populace refuses to this day to set foot in a nanotech structure. Here on the coast, I’d point to the example of Malibu, where there’s been a very serious biotech accident, but one which is entirely unrelated to nanotech. It’s actually being cleaned up with a combination of three smart algae, but everyone’s convinced that the beaches are alive with invisible nanobots waiting to crawl up your disagreeable pussy. What? ‘Unfriendly cat’? No. There’s something
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