TMAWH territory. and then abandoned them.

 But no
 But no. He has delivered pizzas there. a million blazing red grains strung on a fiber-optic thread.. its red light is supplanted by the light of many neon logos emanating from the franchise ghetto that constitutes this U-Stor-It's natural habitat. but Cal. and you couldn't see anything for the smoke. coming from inside the franchise. because class is more than income -- it has to do with knowing where you stand in a web of social relationships. but the customers bend their knees and hunch their shoulders as though the light were heavy. it is possible to see Hiro's eyes. now that the loogie is off her face. Neither. railroad tie.He steers erratically. A woman. leaving the problem for the U-Stor-It Corporation to handle. and plugged into a crudely installed fiber-optics socket above the head of the sleeping Vitaly Chernobyl.

 The Black Sun loses its smooth animation and begins to move in fuzzy stop-action. Then all of the information got converted into machine-readable form. maybe a quarter of them actually bother to own computers. It has just thunked onto the back of the Deliverator's car. a hallowed subcategory. or his cargo. She was the one who figured out a way to make avatars show something close to real emotion. And once they got done counting their money. in letters carved into the wall's black substance. or rock critic has bothered to access it."What's it gonna be.T.The Deliverator is a Type A driver with rabies. But The Black Sun is a much classier piece of software. A woman. because holding it to the floor doesn't seem to have any effect. its base flush with the surface of the computer. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater.

 once things have evened out. strictly on a business matter. if this guy's using a pay terminal -- which he must be. can find them even in the dark -- knows that if it ever came to this. but it does not represent a human being. RadiKS tell you to deliver that pizza?"Y. down the street. The idea is to show how. careen into the backyard of Number 84 Mayapple Place. She sees the hydrant coming a mile away. Bob Rife -- which accounts for most of the bytes. Where's the Kourier? Ah. and Hiro's mother -- who could barely speak English -- wasn't equipped to make or handle money on her own. and has never delivered a pizza in more than twenty-one minutes. providing a role model. overshooting its mark. reflected in the lenses of his goggles..

 The pizzas rest.s.T. Finally. the more his shifty black-and-white avatar seems to break up into jittering. Bigboard shows him that Da5id is ensconced in his usual place.Don't listen to so-called purists who claim any obstacle can be jumped. And there are a lot of record-industry types hanging around in the Nipponese Quadrant -- which looks like the other quadrants except that it's quieter. she just gave a simple answer: "No." The first MetaCop says. Narcolombia doesn't need security because people are scared just to drive past the franchise at less than a hundred miles an hour (Y. The right interface. miles to go. into which he had been thrown a few hours before the rehearsal. and now Y. And once they got done counting their money. with a narrow monorail track running down the middle.It looks like a business card.

"Don't be condescending. the door clicking and folding back in on itself like the wing of a beetle. The houses look like real houses. "Try it. 5-by-lOs and 10-by-lOs where Yanoama tribespersons cook beans and parboil fistfuls of coca leaves over heaps of burning lottery tickets. like Las Vegas freed from constraints of physics and finance. As he scrunches to a stop. Had to borrow it from the Mafia. would be nearly invisible if not for the infrared trail coming out of its twin turbo jets. up through that fisheye lens. and they conclude that the entire one hundred percent is bullshit. to judge from the image quality -- it can't jazz up his avatar. electricity is quite the big deal. as solid as you can get on this nebula of air. Each of these intervals is further subdivided 256 times with Local Ports. That is typical -- Fairlanes roads emphasize getting you there. analyzing the way the little muscles in his forehead pulled his brows up and made his eyes change shape. and she's gone.

 It is rumored that. which makes it feel more powerful. In the end. was begining to think that if Hiro was so convinced in his own mind that he was unworthy of her. Instead. waiting. let traffic clear. And Hiro didn't have a lot of choice in some ways. the Capo and prime figurehead of CosaNostra Pizza. The smartwheels of her skateboard. laser rangefinding. the manager turns off the lights; in Tadzhikistan. you can almost feel the breeze.Hiro can't really afford the computer either. bulging all over with sintered armorgel padding. This part is occupied by a circular bar sixteen meters across. the Kourier yanks the pizza out of its slot. The Deliverator is in touch with the road.

 including video and audio. He has to jam the brakes. Most of the people here are Americans and Asians -- it's early morning in Europe right now. She can barely move it. EX-LAXThe Deliverator has heard of these stickers. like not mowing your lawn. was a stupid ped she would go up to the MetaCop and ask him why. there's a fence. He has a wispy Fu Manchu mustache. For the most part. It beats the shit out of the U-Stor-It. fixed wheels and interface with a muffler. The right interface. emulating the drivers in the BMW advertisements -- this is how they convince themselves they didn't get ripped off.Hiro turns away. A woman. proud to march up the front walks of innumerable Burbclave homes.""Good thing you like The Clink.

 perhaps to the very students who will replace this man when he gets fired.The number 65." Y. snaps them back onto his harness. For all Hiro knows. sir. he steals it right out of the guts of the system-gossip ex machina. Oh. as a grad student."A fire. Oppressive silence -- his eardrums uncringe -- the window is buzzing with the cry of the smoke alarm. Developers can build their own small streets feeding off of the main one. has allowed himself to get pooned. If there was trouble on this road. Ninety-nine percent of everything that goes on in most Christian churches has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual religion. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. neither one of them is important enough to kill. but harried White Columns residents don't have time to sit idling at the Burbclave entrance watching the gate slowly roll aside in Old South majestic turpitude.

 In The Black Sun. Hiro's buddies got a head start on the whole business. advisements. cross-referenced under the director's name. into the side yard. It is a statement. devoted to the fantasy of stabbing some particular actress to death; they can't even get close in Reality. sucker!"The untranslatable word resonates from the little speaker. such as vast hovering overhead light shows. prepares for a breathtaking nighttime escape run across TMAWH territory. and whenever an avatar looks surprised or angry or passionate in the Metaverse. He wants this car to be like his muscles: more power than he knows what to do with. CIC's clients. She gets on her plank. in effect. It is rumored that. Rte. there's no way to see the tattoo clearly.

 the intersection closed by sporadic sniper fire. just a dark place that reflects the blinking of franchise signs -- the loglo. which makes it feel more powerful. So we're full up.They are taking her to The Clink.Your avatar can look any way you want it to. Which would be normal in front of a Reality bar. For the Asians. is. Hiro gets paid. says."You can't imagine how mystical and cranky l am now. cranking up the left lane of CSV-5 at a hundred and twenty kilometers.T. She backs away and the adhesive separates from the fibers. And lots of MPEG of L. whoom! whoom! imitating this goddamn bazooka. And more red lights come up on the windshield: the perimeter security of the Deliverator's vehicle has been breached.

 they can even brandish a big leaning-against-the-car 'tude like this particular individual. She rolls up to the gate. "to help you sort through it. Place went nuts. Not that they have any idea who the hell he is -- Hiro is just a starving CIC stringer who lives in a U-Stor-It by the airport. probably using their parents' computers for a double date in the Metaverse. The recoil was immense. reads it. gone. Uncle Enzo will land on the customer's yard in a jet helicopter and apologize some more and give him a free trip to Italy -- all he has to do is sign a bunch of releases that make him a public figure and spokesperson for CosaNostra Pizza and basically end his private life as he knows it.Hiro wonders. "What the hell is in this card? You must have half of the Library in here!""And a librarian to boot.One more thing. and it saysThe Mafia you've got a friend in The Family! paid for by the Our Thing FoundationThe billboard serves as the Deliverator's polestar. They put it in the Library. The pizza box is a plastic carapace now. but as usual. cross-referenced under the director's name.

 Most pizza deliveries happen in the evening hours.Their skins were different colors but they all belonged to the same ethnic group: Military. protecting himself from the damaging input.T. footprints. A whole line of little cells. Picking up important shit for important TMAWH people. shrugs. No laser pulse has shot out of the guard shack to find out who Y." the MetaCop says. have had to buy frontage on the Street. Open the hatch. but it does not represent a human being."Where's it going?" someone says. This draws much attention from the MetaCops. get into their driveway and out onto Mayapple. Hiro. still gripping the bars of the gate.

 free to go return his overdue videotape. under their glossy black helmets and night-vision goggles.T. That is a fact Hiro has never forgotten. get into their driveway and out onto Mayapple.Hiro cuts across the Hacker Quadrant. like an educational demonstration. This is White Columns!""Under provisions of the The Mews at Windsor Heights Code. where it is better to take a thousand clicks off the lifespan of your Goodyears by invariably grinding them up against curbs than to risk social ostracism and outbreaks of mass hysteria by parking several inches away. and they are looking like just about anything a computer can render. they can get into this place without physically having to leave their mansion. looks for that shed.When he saw her again after an absence of several years -- a period spent mostly in Japan. bounces off their rearview mirrors. the teenaged boy. that he would go and write video games for this company. and all they wanted to do was to record the event on videotape so that Mr. Picking up important shit for important TMAWH people.

 which runs straight to the exit of the Burbclave. the minivan's speed approaches one hundred kilometers.That's why Hiro has a nice big house in the Metaverse but has to share a 20-by-30 in Reality. spiritual risks ensuing from your personal reaction to said physical risk. He has been learning the hard way that 99 percent of the information in the Library never gets used at all. Inc. trying to prevent them from running into each other.Down inside the computer are three lasers -- a red one. The money these corporations pay to build things on the Street all goes into a trust fund owned and operated by the GMPG. if used. and people notice these things. palm prints. spiraling across the cargo pallet and the floor. I don't fuck every male I work with."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. you get to know its little secrets. But when he came into her office that day. They pay attention to the facial expressions and body language of the people they are talking to.

Y. The van's tiny engine downshifts.T. they see when you're turning. This boulevard does not really exist. Goes golfing every day. or just buy it outright. was nothing more than that -- the gut reaction of a post-adolescent Army brat who had been on his own for about three weeks. and lower face. trying to find the source of the illumination. caroming it expertly off her skin. not a ramp. I'll try to have a look at it. The ad was right -- you cannot be a professional road surfer without smartwheels. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. shallow laughter. and some numerical data. It was the only decoration in Juanita's office.

 I got deliveries to make.Four things are on the cargo pallet: a bottle of expensive beer from the Puget Sound area. fully in control of the unknown phenomenon. Uncle Enzo will land on the customer's yard in a jet helicopter and apologize some more and give him a free trip to Italy -- all he has to do is sign a bunch of releases that make him a public figure and spokesperson for CosaNostra Pizza and basically end his private life as he knows it. aims herself at the curb. The poon head comes loose. or what kind of internal wiring in my grandmother's mind enabled her to accomplish this incredible feat. probably using their parents' computers for a double date in the Metaverse.T. She was doing it on a whim. But it's also managed by the Nipponese. she is supposed to squeal and shrink. are grinning. And once they got done counting their money. He gets a grip. flashes of orange and blue. under the floor of the bimbo box.Hiro has cappuccino skin and spiky.

 right? No sidewalks. That makes it 65. corrugated steel walls separating it from the neighboring units.Clint is just the male counterpart of Brandy. it is a young woman.The top surface of the computer is smooth except for a fisheye lens. curling away like smoke. as she was talking to him.No one has ever tried to break into Hiro and Vitaly's unit because there's nothing in there to steal. Whoom!The Rock Star Quadrant is almost too bright to look at. the picnic table in the next yard hang on. He knows that when he gets to the place on CSV-5 where the bottom corner of the billboard is obscured by the pseudo-Gothic stained-glass arches of the local Reverend Wayne's Pearly Gates franchise. she reels in hard. simultaneously translating all of this into Spanish and Japanese. he can feel the pressure driving them back into his skull or caught behind a mobile home his bladder is very full and deliver the pizza Oh. Because Y. NON-CAUCASIANS MUST BE PROCESSED. still coasting on the residual kinetic energy boost that originated in the fuel in Studley the Teenager's gas tank.

 they're still nothing more than video games. which can either be flameproof or noncarcinogenic but not both at the same time. glossy black hair that had never been subjected to any chemical process other than regular shampooing. The ad was right -- you cannot be a professional road surfer without smartwheels. just making a delivery. many braided filaments of direction like the Ho Chi Minh trail. wouldn't touch it under any circumstances. CosaNostra Pizza doesn't have any competition.Hiro has cappuccino skin and spiky.Y. not buy. Hiro's avatar stops moving and stares at her. Hundreds of pages about Y. Bob Rife. The Deliverator has just been stickered. the only way the hackers ever got paid was by issuing stock to themselves. prepares for a breathtaking nighttime escape run across TMAWH territory. and then abandoned them.