G |
Prose
Gibson, William
All Tomorrow's Parties
Through this evenings tide of faces unregistered, unrecognized, amid hurrying black shoes, furled umbrellas, the crowd descending like a single organism into the stations airless heart, comes Shinya Yamazaki, his notebook clasped beneath his arm like the egg case of some modest but moderately successful marine species.
Neuromancer
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
G |
Prose