I'm tempted to refer the average college grad to English 111 but, I simply cannot yet accept the co-opting of a great William Gibson novel by a bunch of snot-nosed post-modern critical theorists.

Not to put too fine a point on it.

ROFL!!

So instead, I'll refer the average college graduate to here . I don't read Dutch but the opening flash music kinda cranks.

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Automatically, he picked it up.

"Yeah'?"

Faint harmonics. tiny inaudible voices rattling across some orbital link, and then a sound like wind.

"Hello, Case."

A fifty-lirasi coin fell from his hand, bounced, and rolled out of sight across Hilton carpeting.

"Wintermute, Case. It's time we talk."

It was a chip voice.

"Don't you want to talk, Case?"

He hung up.

On his way back to the lobby. his cigarettes forgotten, he had to walk the length of the ranked phones. Each rang in turn, but only once, as he passed.
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Then again, there's this guy - kinda reminds me of Spinoza.