I’m rereading it again. Ah, so good.
In fact, the squat franchise itself looks like nothing more than a low-slung base for the great aramid fiber pillars that thrust the billboard up into the trademark firmament. Marca Registrada, baby.
When Hiro first saw this place, ten years ago, the monorail hadn’t been written yet; he and his buddies had to write car and motocycle software in order to get around. They would take their software out and race it in the black desert of the electronic night.
It’s like, if you—people of a certain age—would make some effort to just stay in touch with sort of basic, modern-day events, then your kids wouldn’t have to take these drastic measures.
After that—after Hiro gets onto his motorcycle, and the New South Africans get into their all-terrain pickups, and The Enforcers get into their slick black Enforcer mobiles, and they all go screaming out onto the highway—after that it’s just a chase scene.
Jack the sound barrier. Bring the noise.