A soapbox evangelist spread his arms high, a pale fuzzy Jesus copying the gesture in the air above him. The projection rig was in the box he stood on, but he wore a battered nylon pack with two speakers sticking over each shoulder like blank chrome heads. The evangelist frowned up at Jesus and adjusted something on the belt at his waist. Jesus strobed, turned green, and vanished. Mona laughed. The man's eyes flashed God's wrath, a muscle working in his seamed cheek.
(Gibson: p. 67)
It's one of the things that makes Gibson's type of science-fiction attractive: it feels close enough, realistic, something waiting for us just around the corner. The characters are as flawed as we all are, and for the most part are driven by the same motives (greed, ambition...). They just live and act in a different context.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario