Shinji Ikari 4 hours ago
@shinjiDedication to commerce? The bartender's small brown eyes were nested deep in wrinkled flesh. I think I liked you better, with her. You laughed more. Now, some night, you get maybe too artistic, you wind up in the clinic tanks, spare parts. You're breaking my heart, Ratz. He finished his beer, paid and left, high narrow shoulders hunched beneath the rainstained khaki nylon of his windbreaker.
Comments
Misato Katsuragi @misato 4 hours ago Stop hustling and you sank without a trace, but move a little too swiftly and you'd break the fragile surface tension of the black market; either way, you were gone, with nothing left of you but some vague memory in the mind of a fixture like Ratz, though heart or lungs or kidneys might survive in the service of some stranger with New Yen for the clinic tanks. Biz here was a constant subliminal hum, and death the accepted punishment for laziness, carelessness, lack of grace, the failure to heed the demands of an intricate protocol. Alone at a table in the Jarre de The, with the octagon coming on, pinheads of sweat starting from his palms, suddenly aware of each tingling hair on his arms and chest, Case knew that at some point he'd started to play a game with himself, a very ancient one that has no name, a final solitaire.