in the late 1990s I found myself in China as an Oracle salesman. Entire post-occupied blocks had been abandonned as well off originals had now situated the selves in former tax shelters in Taiwan, Singapore, portions of the bay area etc. So I found myself alone in a British colonial apartment block with nothing but the cyborg I was trying to sell them.
The cyborg would climb the thick wood stairwell in the morning as I began another night out trying to get Jason Fong and other notable tech types to by into our technology. Mainlanders would soon occupy this spot. Capitalists would swoon in making their lives into the 30 usd a plate street food you encounter today, but back then It was still colonial opulence. The cyborg would mutter random phrases like a monkey’s paw, truthisms that we couldn’t quite muster tales of words delivered on different planets interplanetary dispatchs of UFOs aground in Shenzen and visa booklets larger than life itself. My passport swelled.