Well, fuck that! It's not just
community networking, it'll be civil disobedience against shitty
service-provider terms of service!"
There were a couple early morning hard-hats in the diner who looked up
from their yolky eggs to glare at him. Kurt spotted them and
waved. "Sorry, boys. Ever get one of those ideas that's so good, you
can't help but do a little dance?"
One of the hard-hats smiled. "Yeah, but his wife always turns me down."
He socked the other hard-hat in the shoulder.
The other hard-hat grunted into his coffee. "Nice. Very nice. You're
gonna be a *lot* of fun today, I can tell."
They left the diner in a sleepdep haze and squinted into the sunrise and
grinned at each other and burped up eggs and sausages and bacon and
coffee and headed toward Kurt's Buick.
"Hang on," Alan said. "Let's have a walk, okay?" The city smelled like
morning, dew and grass and car-exhaust and baking bread and a whiff of
the distant Cadbury's factory oozing chocolate miasma over the hills and
the streetcar tracks. Around them, millions were stirring in their beds,
clattering in their kitchens, passing water, and taking on vitamins. It
invigorated him, made him feel part of something huge and
all-encompassing, like being in his father the mountain.
"Up there," Kurt said, pointing to a little playground atop the hill
that rose sharply up Dupont toward Christie, where a herd of plastic
rocking horses swayed creakily in the breeze.
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