m. or so, and there's never a light
on. Keep meaning to come back around five some afternoon and ring the
bell and say hello. Never got to it."
Alan pursed his lips and watched Kurt prod at the keyboard.
"He's got a shitkicking net connection, though -- tell you what. Feels
like a T1, and the IP address comes off of an ISP in Waterloo. You need
a browser, right?"
Alan shook his head. "You know, I can't even remember what it was I
wanted to show you. There's some kind of idea kicking at me now,
though..."
Kurt shifted his laptop to the back seat, mindful of the cords and the
antenna. "What's up?"
"Let's do some more driving around, let it perk, okay? You got more
dumpsters you want to show me?"
"Brother, I got dumpsters for weeks. Months. Years."
#
It was the wardriving, of course. Alan called out the names of the
networks that they passed as they passed them, watching the flags pop up
on the map of Toronto. They drove the streets all night, watched the sun
go up, and the flags multiplied on the network.
Alan didn't even have to explain it to Kurt, who got it
immediately. They were close now, thinking together in the feverish
drive-time on the night-dark streets.
"Here's the thing," Kurt said as they drank their coffees at the Vesta
Lunch, a grimy 24-hour diner that Alan only seemed to visit during the
smallest hours of the morning.
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