We don't have a fucking clue. We're a telephone company. We don't
know how to give away free communications -- we don't even know how to
charge for it."
"That was refreshingly honest," Kurt said. "I wanna shake your hand."
He stood up and Lyman stood up and Lyman's posse stood up and they
converged on the doorway in an orgy of handshaking and grinning. The
graybeard handed over the access point, and the East Indian woman ran
off to get the other two, and before they knew it, they were out on the
street.
"I liked him," Kurt said.
"I could tell," Alan said.
"Remember you said something about an advisory board? How about if we
ask him to join?"
"That is a *tremendous* and deeply weird idea, partner. I'll send out
the invite when we get home."
#
Kurt said that the anarchist bookstore would be a slam dunk, but it
turned out to be the hardest sell of all.
"I spoke to them last month, they said they were going to run it down in
their weekly general meeting. They love it. It's anarcho-radio. Plus,
they all want high-speed connectivity in the store so they can webcast
their poetry slams. Just go on by and introduce yourself, tell 'em I
sent you."
Ambrose nodded and skewered up a hunk of omelet and swirled it in the
live yogurt the Greek served, and chewed. "All right," he said, "I'll do
it this afternoon. You look exhausted, by the way.
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