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Past the watcher again, loping this time, down the hall to the pay phone on the wall. Disconnected roar of untraveled universes beckoning.

Tok-city Neural Net, longest distance, unreachable from here. Kindred dropped another quarter in and hoped. Tap dancing lobster clicks.

He could hear voices. One Japanese. The other not, tickle down the wire. Arguing. The American upset about a bad brainstream. His own voice.

After a minute, a snickety-click as the Tok-city voice hung up. But the American, oblivious, kept talking. Shiny pebbles lost in the sea.

Kindred felt a burning in his brainstem. Leakage. Corrosive brainstream, dripping, running down his neck. Data burn. Cold ones, hot zeroes.

Data burn causes time slippage. DB=TS. Loss of temporal sequencing. Years bounce. Childhood merges with the now. Overlinkage. Skips. Peeps.

Kindred pulled the microdriver from his belt and fitted it to the hex screw in his cranium. Three quarter turn clockwise to stop the leak.

Mirror mirror on the shawl is the forest often bowel? I can't keep fractating and yes I made up that word I am a fractal image so yes I can

I turned from my others and the microdriver banged against the door frame oops it wiggled sounds like wachtel wachtel walk to wok Tourette's

talk to Meeks, at the stick spritzing afterlife into gin & ebonics. Meeks is real and he is a singularity. Yet, if I had to describe him

I couldn't, just two eyes and a truckload of white teeth, a staple remover filled with Chiclits. Fractal images, right? Which one of me now?

Which one indeed. You do know, Mr. Kindred, you left Joy Motel under cover of darkness last July? You are no longer there. Checked out.

For some reason your mind skipjacks into unused receptacles and picks up ambient electrovolts, rejuvenates the corrupt brainstream. Virus.

By now it should have decayed and disappeared. You're not the first person to mainline a screamer from Tok-city. Some burnriders, it kills.

You're a lucky one. Your trip mild, relatively. You maintain neurocircuit functionality, flexible reasoning, autodigit tap response normal.

but doc the air so dense i can't move i can't get a lung expanded bigger than a tennis ball pump me up again would ya i see the red balloon

inside of my boot in nam all fulla goo skin and pulp and crushed bugs is this guy nixon gonna drop the bomb on the north or not badda boom

i got a cold neural in the upper right quadrant doc it keeps snappin like a steel clothesline and man it's gonna come out through my eye

Mr. Kindred, you are skip-processing. Brain popping. Imagine a large blue reset button. Can you see it? Can you reach it? Press the button.

cantreachitdocissouttamyarmslengthgimmealadderorwaitaminuteicanstandonthetoiletseatifthatcleaningladywouldjustgetouttamywaymovesweetpeamove!

pressinthebluebuttonnowdocnothinshappeninimpressinitagainresetdammitreset. click. oh. did you hear that? definite click. i can breathe doc.

Very good, Mr. Kindred. That is the first time you have been able to regain motorskeletoncontrol under duress since you joined the program.

i heard a click, doc. didja hear it? i hear lotsa clicks. tapping. typing. birds chirping. tweeting. tweeters, doc. blue letters. twitter.

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