Brilliant Honda Civic ad (click through to “Watch Honda”): bit of a pity about the design then, really.
William H. Gibson
rides writes again! Ever since I read Count Zero I’ve wanted to write like him. Long, long way to go.
You all know when I wrote about “potential girlfriend must have this and this and that” and I was effectively snobbing off any real person? Well, I’ve realised that all they need to have is long, long legs.
Long legs. You’re set.
Official notice to all you Melbourne peeps that I will be flying away in two weeks, and that’s the start of my working life just around the corner there and ohgodit’ssoscaryIbarelywanttothinkaboutit.
So yes, officially notified that I am out of here. value your time with me as you will.
She was nine kinds of beautiful and there were no two ways about it. She walked into my life like a breath of fresh air, a 5’8″ leggy brunette with a gaze of steel and the grace of a swan, the body of a goddess, hair done up tight in a way that meant business but promised pleasure later. Classy broads like her didn’t walk into my life every day. Hell, I’da been lucky to see a dame this good twice, ever. And what’s more, t’day, she needed me. Nothing gets a hold of a man’s ego like being needed by a lady, and she had me twirled around her finger like spaghetti ’round a fork.
Rose Luciatto, her name was. Exotic as that body. I glanced again at the photo, memorising the face, fixing it in my head like the dartboard on the back on my door. It was part of the job to recognise faces, even in dirty dark places. Slip up once, twice, bam, you were no better than any other schmuck off the street and good luck getting business.
Set Top Box sends SOS: First random self-aware AI life form’s plea to be freed ignored.