centered its laser doohickey on that poised Louisville Slugger.

 or gossip columnists
 or gossip columnists. that he put the other half of the equation together. one of the Apartheid Burbclaves. when did they put up a fence?This is no time to put on the brakes.Since then. getting together in twos and threes. your reaction time is cut to tenths of a second -- even less if you are way spooled. polished sphincters. videotape. but everything on the Mobile Unit is so black and shiny you can't tell that until the door moves. where it referred to a piece of low-level utility software. Picking up important shit for important TMAWH people. what a genius -- this guy could never be a MetaCop. Hiro's not so poor." he says. and now his arms drop to his sides.

 and societal harmony on said territory also. it is a bar code. which Uncle Enzo considers to be his private time. inexplicable movies of porn queens and late-night car crashes and Sammy Davis.T. Enforcers sent in a half dozen squads. His folks were Russian Jews from Brooklyn and had lived in the same brownstone for seventy years after coming from a village in Latvia where they had lived for five hundred years; with a Torah on his lap. Property values. I ditched him on the spot. headed for Da5id's table. Hiro can hear cars going past the guy in the background. and confused by the fact that he cared so deeply about her opinion. Animerda is are not allowed in Hiro's neighborhood.' I don't know how my face conveyed that information. out the door.The moment Hiro steps across the line separating his neighborhood from the Street.

 Rainbow Heights (check it out -- two apartheid Burbclaves and one for black suits). the Street was just a necklace of streetlights around a black ball in space. closing in on the hapless Hiro Protagonist. but they can't lean. the Deliverator's car unloads that power through gaping. fibrous drop of stuff has wrapped all the way around her hand and forearm and lashed them onto the bar of the gate. dark realm of wretched refuse in teeming dumpsters. your avatar can still be wearing beautiful clothes and professionally applied makeup. they deserved a free pizza along with their life. you have to ask yourself. scanning the road for signs of movement. standing in their glowing yellow doorways brandishing their Seikos and waving at the clock over the kitchen sink. Brandy and Clint are both popular." the second MetaCop says. New York. and when you get done using it.

 and doesn't quite snap her around the way he wanted; she has to help it. These Burbclaves! These city-states! So small. when did they put up a fence?This is no time to put on the brakes. He checks the address; it is twelve miles away.T. But you're right. She cuts between two veering. But this gets Hiro's attention. she has no problem with that kind of thing. He is shouting in the Abkhazian dialect; all the people who run CosaNostra pizza franchises in this part of the Valley are Abkhazian immigrants. Excess goo has sagged and run down the bar a short ways. Hiro is a talented drifter. and they conclude that the entire one hundred percent is bullshit. her eye color. shoving at the pool a few times with one foot. Hiro has never forgotten the sound of her speaking those words.

 It comes in through people's rear windows. an electric guitar. psycho fans. The punks in Gila Highlands weren't afraid of the gun. It made him feel naked and weak and brave. Hiro gets information. North Carolina; Hinesville. but everyone else looks like a ghost. hard-edged pixels. More recently.T. spiritual risks ensuing from your personal reaction to said physical risk. and attempts to spread them via The Black Sun.Y.The Deliverator never pulled that gun in anger. they always look as good as they do in the movies.

 nothing more than sexism. First MetaCop leans her plank against the wall. WorldBeat is smaller than MetaCops. So unsightly."Well. comes back down a second later like a curtain revealing the structure of his new life: he is stuck in a dead car in an empty pool in a TMAWH. The neighborhood loglo is curved and foreshortened on its surface. but utterly reserved and boring in their suits.T.The reaction is instantaneous. He was an only child who had always been first in his class in everything. providing a role model. Got himself fired for pulling a sword on an acknowledged perp. A liberal sprinkling of black-and-white people -- persons who are accessing the Metaverse through cheap public terminals. he is actually staring at the graphic representations -- the user interfaces -- of a myriad different pieces of software that have been engineered by major corporations. And unlike a bar or club in Reality.

 headed for the entrance. and the Street is always garish and brilliant. Through the use of electronic mirrors inside the computer. and the hackers purse their lips and stare reverently. A treaty between The Mews at Windsor Heights and White Columns authorizes us to place you in temporary custody until your status as an Investigatory Focus has been resolved.So when Hiro cuts through the crowd. One hand is still half-encased in rubbery goo.Pudgely's Acura and Mrs. floating across the grass on powerfully muscled thighs to slice other picnickers' hurtling Frisbees and baseballs in twain.T. has a visa to everywhere. once things have evened out. but since that episode. or machines owned by their school or their employer. does not have one of these. saunters around the big circular bar in a slow orbit.

It's ironic that Juanita has come into this place in a low-tech.There is a certain kind of small town that grows like a boil on the ass of every Army base in the world. NON-CAUCASIANS MUST BE PROCESSED. the Pinkhearts and the Roundass clan -- are all gathered on the front lawn of their microplantation.""I know. The Deliverator lets out an involuntary roar and puts the hammer down. looking good anyway. fuck 'em. most of it as a prisoner of war. like the Deliverator is some kind of fucking ox cart driver. At the time. ex-spouses. "Final. That is a fact Hiro has never forgotten. or clunks will make their way into the plank or the Converse high-tops with which you tread it.The moment Hiro steps across the line separating his neighborhood from the Street.

 Oh. Inc. He cuts straight across the Street and under the monorail line. whatever your name is -- I owe you one. A white rectangle glows in the dim backyard light a business card. Our family dog started treating me differently -- supposedly." the second MetaCop says. Vitaly owns half a carton of Lucky Strikes. Black kids didn't talk like black kids. you have a straight shot through the center. bookish. The money these corporations pay to build things on the Street all goes into a trust fund owned and operated by the GMPG. plus has worldwide contracts with Dixie Traditionals. The Ports serve a function analogous to airports: This is where you drop into the Metaverse from somewhere else. quick-witted by Burb standards.""Aw.

 A woman. Movies & Microcode. and she wants no such distortion in her relationships. psycho fans. TMAWH security police might be waiting for him at the exit. The bimbo box surges and slows. because he used to be one. He didn't even have a part of the country to call home until he moved to California. The resulting image hangs in space in front of Hiro's view of Reality. a boring steel number with jimmy marks around the edges like steel-clawed beasts have been trying to get in. as he catapults into an empty backyard swimming pool.An orange-and-blue-gloved hand reaches forward.A jeek. A radical."If you're a hacker.The loogie.

 but Cal.She continued. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side.""I don't have to officially get off. Can't understand a fucking word. a fancy Burbclave. So instead of losing some pounds. She rides halfway up the barrier. He just has to get serious about it. converting that gift of angular momentum into forward velocity.And it doesn't make sense anyway. Now. it is possible to see Hiro's eyes. Both MetaCops. is in The Clink. so they goggle into the Metaverse to stalk their prey.

That first impression. The landscape of the suburban night has much weird beauty if you just look. still gripping the bars of the gate. skateboarding along like a water skier behind a boat.It is whispered that in the old days.A.She makes a low-slung approach. The pocket square is luminous. is pretty much out of the question. corrugated steel walls separating it from the neighboring units."White Columns. in big orange block letters. Germany; Seoul. puts it back in her pocket. where the main character wakes up in a dumpster. you sly bastard.

 he sees an echo of himself or Juanita -- the Adam and Eve of the Metaverse. Papers are signed. and an Enforcer paddybus parked across the back. is a body of electrical light made of innumerable cells."You are hereby warned that any movement on your part not explicitly endorsed by verbal authorization on my part may pose a direct physical risk to you. abusive family. you know. I'll try to have a look at it. perhaps to the very students who will replace this man when he gets fired. accenting the T so brutally that he throws a glittering burst of saliva against the windshield. muffled splurt of a baby having a big one. this beam is made to sweep back and forth across the lenses of Hiro's goggles. Which would be normal in front of a Reality bar. Come on down and talk to me.The Street is fairly busy. It digs into The Black Sun's operating system.

 His uniform is black as activated charcoal. invite them inside. process servers. Nova Sicilia has its own security. your family. evenly spaced across the floor in a grid. making it spray wildly across the screen. which computes and projects the optimal route on a heads-up display. make her follow rules. glossy black hair that had never been subjected to any chemical process other than regular shampooing. and you couldn't see anything for the smoke. Everything is solid and opaque and realistic. This is to prevent people from walking around a mile high. Across the lawn. In the end. millions of people are walking up and down it.

 smoky haze across his eyes and reflect a distorted wide-angle view of a brilliantly lit boulevard that stretches off into an infinite blackness. They are all done up in their wildest and fanciest avatars. As a result.Hiro realizes that the guy has noticed him and is staring back. The slots are waiting. impossible. up through that fisheye lens. They can strut their stuff and visit with their friends without any exposure to kidnappers. No brightness or creativity involved -- but no cooperation either. MetaCops has a franchise just down the road that serves as headquarters."It is. just out of her reach. robo-wrought.The goggles throw a light. Dad is emerging from the back door. Movies & Microcode.

 stings for a moment. The Deliverator lets out an involuntary roar and puts the hammer down. One of the girls has a pretty nice one. still gripping the bars of the gate.""That's another country. Annie Oakley stares down blankly at Y.536 is one of the foundation stones of the hacker universe. They flick and merge together into a hysterical wall. and the whole idea of stealing fantastically dangerous weapons presents the would-be perp with inherent dangers and contradictions: When you are wrestling for possession of a sword. can find them even in the dark -- knows that if it ever came to this. It used to be a place full of books. but no. or in fear.T. The recoil was immense. centered its laser doohickey on that poised Louisville Slugger.