|When you got down to it, it wasnít really a town. It was more just a collection of crime scenes, waiting to happen.
He rubbed the hair on his arms and though of how strange it was that he still had any hair there at all. He didnít have much anywhere else. It must be evolutionary important, he thought, in terms of stupid white males sitting in t-shirts in the cold drinking beer.
Spent, she turned to the infallible resource of her mobile phoneís predictive text as a kind of impromptu rhyming dictionary.
On the phone, talking to prospective visitors. Whoís here? Name, name, name, name, name, name, name. Name.
Richard Branson robots designed to massively Turing test Wintermute using the parallel processing power of a million Virgin mobile users.
One man, one chip on red. Another man, one chip on black. They couldnít possibly lose. Well, someone would, but they would suffer at the overwhelming and total win of the other. A mere spin away lay the deciding factor: rotating, random, the roulette wheel spun. Zero. Green. Thatís not black. Thatís not red. Itís green.
Buying lots of dark chocolate leads to the sound of police choppers overhead.
The helicopter descended, falling gracefully to meet the owner of the waving arms. The small boy by her side looked up in terror at the harsh lights and winced. The little boy, confused as ever, experienced the closest thing he could to an alien abduction.