Pattern Recognition
Five hours' New York jet lag and Cayce Pollard wakes in Camden Town to the dire and ever-circling wolves of disrupted circadian rhythm.
Neuromancer
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
All Tmorrow's Parties
THROUGH this evenings tide of faces unregistered, unrecognized, amid hurrying black shoes, furled umbrellas, the crowd descending like a single organism into the stations airless heart, comes Shinya Yamazaki, his notebook clasped beneath his arm like the egg case of some modest but moderately successful marine species.
Virtual Light
The courier presses his forehead against layers of glass, argon, high-impact plastic. He watches a gunship traverse the city's middle distance like a hunting wasp, death slung beneath its thorax in a smooth black pod.
Idoru
After Slitscan, Laney heard about another job from Rydell, the night
security man at the Chateau. Rydell was a big quiet Tennessean with a sad
shy grin, cheap sunglasses, and a walkie-talkie screwed permanently into one
ear.
William Gibson
