Mona Lisa Overdrive (Sprawl, #3)

by William Gibson

Somebody was playing a trumpet in the asphalt square that had been the parking lot, a rambling Cuban solo that bounced and distorted off the concrete walls, dying notes lost in the morning clatter of the market.

Gentry was convinced that cyberspace had a Shape, an overall total form.

But Slick didn’t think cyberspace was anything like the universe anyway; it was just a way of representing data.