Alan
wondered why Kurt was so pleasant with these cops out in the boonies but
so hostile to the law in Kensington Market.
"How are we going to get connectivity out of the Market?" Kurt said. "I
mean, all this work, and we've hardly gotten four or five square blocks
covered."
"Buck up," Alan said. "We could spend another two years just helping
people in the Market use what we've installed, and it would still be
productive." Kurt's mouth opened, and Alan held his hand up. "Not that
I'm proposing that we do that. I just mean there's plenty of good that's
been done so far. What we need is some publicity for it, some critical
mass, and some way that we can get ordinary people involved. We can't
fit a critical mass into your front room and put them to work."
"So what do we get them to do?"
"It's a good question. There's something I saw online the other day I
wanted to show you. Why don't we go home and get connected?"
"There's still plenty of good diving out there. No need to go home
anyway -- I know a place."
They drove off into a maze of cul-de-sacs and cheaply built, gaudy
monster homes with triple garages and sagging rain gutters. The streets
had no sidewalks and the inevitable basketball nets over every garage
showed no signs of use.
Kurt pulled them up in front of a house that was indistinguishable from
the others and took the laptop from under the Buick's seat, plugging it
into the cigarette lighter and flipping its lid.
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