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People smoke, and drink as though it were good for you, and seem to still be in some sort of honeymoon phase with cocaine.
She’s here on Blue Ant’s ticket. Relatively tiny in terms of permanent staff, globally distributed, more post-geographic than multinational, the agency has from the beginning billed itself as a high-speed, low-drag life-form in an advertising ecology of lumbering herbivores.
Stonestreet producing a pack of cigarettes called Silk Cut, which Cayce, never a smoker, thinks of as somehow being the British equivalent of the Japanese Mild Seven. Two default brands of creatives.
She has no internalized surface map of this city, only of the underground and of assorted personal footpaths spreading out from its stations.
We have no future because our present is too volatile.”
“We have only risk management.
apophenia.
Tokyo doesn’t so much sleep as pause to allow crucial repairs to its infrastructure.
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