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The
Harlan
’
s
World
ethnic
mix
is
primarily
Slavic
and
Japanese
,
although
you
can
get
any
variant
tank
-
grown
at
a
price
.
Here
,
every
face
was
a
different
cast
and
colour
—
I
saw
tall
,
angular
-
boned
Africans
,
Mongols
,
pasty
-
skinned
Nordics
and
,
once
,
a
girl
that
looked
like
Virginia
Vidaura
,
but
I
lost
her
in
the
crowd
.
They
all
slid
by
like
natives
on
the
banks
of
a
river
.
Clumsy
.
The
impression
skipped
and
flickered
across
my
thoughts
like
the
girl
in
the
crowd
.
I
frowned
and
caught
at
it
.
On
Harlan
’
s
World
,
streetlife
has
a
stripped
-
back
elegance
to
it
,
an
economy
of
motion
and
gesture
that
feels
almost
like
choreography
if
you
’
re
not
used
to
it
.
I
grew
up
with
it
,
so
the
effect
doesn
’
t
register
until
it
’
s
not
there
any
more
.
I
wasn
’
t
seeing
it
here
.
The
ebb
and
flow
of
human
commerce
beyond
the
limo
’
s
windows
had
a
quality
like
choppy
water
in
the
space
between
boats
.
People
pushed
and
shoved
their
way
along
,
backing
up
abruptly
to
get
round
tighter
knots
in
the
crowd
that
they
apparently
hadn
’
t
noticed
until
it
was
too
late
to
manoeuvre
.
Obvious
tensions
broke
out
,
necks
craned
,
muscled
bodies
drew
themselves
up
.
Twice
I
saw
the
makings
of
a
fight
take
stumbling
shape
,
only
to
be
swept
away
on
the
chop
.
It
was
as
if
the
whole
place
had
been
sprayed
with
some
pheromonal
irritant
.
"
Curtis
.
"
I
glanced
sideways
at
his
impassive
profile
.
"
You
want
to
cut
the
broadcast
block
for
a
minute
?
"
He
looked
across
at
me
with
a
slight
curl
of
the
lip
.
"
Sure
.
"
I
settled
back
in
the
seat
and
fixed
my
eyes
on
the
street
again
.
"
I
’
m
not
a
tourist
,
Curtis
.
This
is
what
I
do
for
a
living
.
"
The
street
sellers
’
catalogues
came
aboard
like
a
swarm
of
delirium
-
induced
hallucinations
,
slightly
diffuse
through
lack
of
directed
broadcast
and
blurring
swiftly
into
each
other
as
we
glided
along
,
but
still
an
overload
by
any
Harlanite
standards
.
The
pimps
were
the
most
obvious
;
a
succession
of
oral
and
anal
acts
,
digitally
retouched
to
lend
an
airbrushed
sheen
to
breasts
and
musculature
.
Each
whore
’
s
name
was
murmured
in
throaty
voiceover
,
along
with
a
superimposed
facial
:
coy
little
girls
,
dominatrixes
,
stubbled
stallions
and
a
few
from
cultural
stock
that
was
completely
alien
to
me
.
Weaving
in
between
were
the
more
subtle
chemical
lists
and
surreal
scenarios
of
the
drug
and
implant
traders
.
I
caught
a
couple
of
religious
‘
casts
amidst
it
all
,
images
of
spiritual
calm
among
mountains
,
but
they
were
like
drowning
men
in
the
sea
of
product
.
