Нейромант

           Whilehewatchedtheloser’szodiacofFreeside,thenightclubconstellationsofthehologramsky,shift,slidingfluiddowntheaxisofdarkness,toswarmlikelivethingsatthedeadcenterofreality.Untiltheyhadarrangedthemselves,individuallyandintheirhundreds,toformavastsimpleportrait,stippledtheultimatemonochrome,starsagainstnightsky.FaceofMissLindaLee.

           Whenhewasabletolookaway,tolowerhiseyes,hefoundeveryotherfaceinthestreetupraised,thestrollingtouristsbecalmedwithwonder.Andwhenthelightsintheskywentout,araggedcheerwentupfromJulesVerne,toechoofftheterracesandrankedbalconiesoflunarconcrete.

           Somewhereaclockbegantochime,someancientbelloutofEurope.

           Midnight.

           Hewalkedtillmorning.

           Thehighworeaway,thechromedskeletoncorrodinghourly,fleshgrowingsolid,thedrug-fleshreplacedwiththemeatofhislife.Hecouldn’tthink.Helikedthatverymuch,tobeconsciousandunabletothink.Heseemedtobecomeeachthinghesaw:aparkbench,acloudofwhitemothsaroundanantiquestreetlight,arobotgardenerstripeddiagonallywithblackandyellow.

           ArecordeddawncreptalongtheLado-Achesonsystem,pinkandlurid.HeforcedhimselftoeatanomeletteinaDesideratacafe,todrinkwater,tosmokethelastofhiscigarettes