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...before it gets better, baby. a flowing, jazzy techno piece that wants to wear shades while it wanders down the street. |
Credits: copyright 2000, jason scott |
Story Behind the Song
There's something a little too crisp about the city at night -- the kind of thing that makes people want to smooth it out with drugs or sleep or wheel of fortune on a three meter flatscreen. More's the pity, I say, if they can't hack it on the edge.
I snap on the polarized goggles, pull on my jacket and slap Jackie on the back as I pass her en route to the door. "Hey babe -- I'm heading out, call me if the server goes down?" She pretends to be awake, waves from the futon and grunts acknowledgement. Exit apartment, down stairs, enter street.
It takes a couple hours of bumming around downtown before I see anything interesting -- a guy in a uniform that looks official shoving a street vendor and shouting about trade embargos. Hands jam into my pockets and I hunch my shoulders without thinking -- look harmless, shuffle your feet... Wander closer without anybody noticing. The officer's getting rougher and now I'm close enough to make out the pips on the guy's shoulder: he's important enough to be embarassed.
I slouch against a wall to keep the good angle. Run a shaky hand through my hair and press the thumb to my temple.
Click.
In my peripherial vision, I can see the frame counter glow. Blurring as my implant spools video to the server back in the apartment and our backup system in Crimea. The lighting's good as the vendor gives in, passes a fat wad of untraceable cash to the guy, and spits a few vulgaities. I'm not worried -- we'll get the man his money back, plus some for ourselves.
Bribes are pretty lucrative, especially for the guys who watch.
-verb
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