Нейромант

           `Whatisit?’

           `Thisthing,’shegesturedaroundatthefireplace,thedarkwalls,thedawnoutliningthedoorway,`wherewelive.Itgetssmaller,Case,smaller,closeryougettoit.’

           Pausingonelasttime,bythedoorway.`Youaskyourboyaboutthat?’

           `Yeah.HesaidIwouldn’tunderstand,an’Iwaswastin’mytime.Saiditwas,waslike...anevent.An’itwasourhorizon.Eventhorizon,hecalledit.’

           Thewordsmeantnothingtohim.Heleftthebunkerandstruckoutblindly,heading-heknew,somehow-awayfromthesea.Nowthehieroglyphsspedacrossthesand,fledfromhisfeet,drewbackfromhimashewalked.`Hey,’hesaid,`it’sbreakingdown.Betyouknow,too.Whatisit?Kuang?Chineseicebreakereatingaholeinyourheart?MaybetheDixieFlatline’snopushover,huh?’

           Heheardhercallhisname.Lookedbackandshewasfollowinghim,nottryingtocatchup,thebrokenzipoftheFrenchfatiguesflappingagainstthebrownofherbelly,pubichairframedintornfabric.ShelookedlikeoneofthegirlsontheFinn’soldmagazinesinMetroHolografixcometolife,onlyshewastiredandsadandhuman,therippedcostumepatheticasshestumbledoverclumpsofsalt-silverseagrass.

           Andthen,somehow,theystoodinthesurf,thethreeofthem,andtheboy’sgumswerewideandbrightpinkagainsthisthinbrownface.