It was the wardriving, of course. Alan called out the names of the networks that they passed as they passed them, watching the flags pop up on the map of Toronto. They drove the streets all night, watched the sun go up, and the flags multiplied on the network.Alan didn’t even have to explain it to Kurt, who got it immediately. They were close now, thinking together in the feverish drive-time on the night-dark streets.“Here’s the thing,” Kurt said as they drank their coffees at the Vesta Lunch, a grimy 24-hour diner that Alan only seemed to visit during the smallest hours of the morning. “I started off thinking, well, the cell companies are screwed up because they think that they need to hose the whole city from their high towers with their powerful transmitters, and my little boxes will be lower-power and smarter and more realistic and grassroots and democratic.”“Right,” Alan said. “I was just thinking of that. What could be more democratic than just encouraging people to use their own access points and their own Internet connections to bootstrap the city?”“Yeah,” Kurt said.“Sure, you won’t get to realize your dream of getting a free Internet by bridging down at the big cage at 151 Front Street, but we can still play around with hardware. And convincing the people whoalreadyknow why WiFi is cool to join up has got to be easier than convincing shopkeepers who’ve never heard of wireless to let us put antennae and boxes on their walls.”“Right,” Kurt said, getting more excited. “Right! I mean, it’s just ego, right? Why do we need tocontrolthe network?” He spun around on his cracked stool and the waitress gave him a dirty look. “Gimme some apple pie, please,” he said. “This is the best part: it’s going to violate the hell out of everyone’s contracts with their ISPs—they sell you an all-you-can-eat Internet connection and then tell you that they’ll cut off your service if you’re too hungry. Well, fuck that! It’s not just community networking, it’ll be civil disobedience against shitty service-provider terms of service!”There were a couple early morning hard-hats in the diner who looked up from their yolky eggs to glare at him. Kurt spotted them and waved. “Sorry, boys. Ever get one of those ideas that’s so good, you can’t help but do a little dance?”One of the hard-hats smiled. “Yeah, but his wife always turns me down.” He socked the other hard-hat in the shoulder.The other hard-hat grunted into his coffee. “Nice. Very nice. You’re gonna be alotof fun today, I can tell.”They left the diner in a sleepdep haze and squinted into the sunrise and grinned at each other and burped up eggs and sausages and bacon and coffee and headed toward Kurt’s Buick.“Hang on,” Alan said. “Let’s have a walk, okay?” The city smelled like morning, dew and grass and car-exhaust and baking bread and a whiff of the distant Cadbury’s factory oozing chocolate miasma over the hills and the streetcar tracks. Around them, millions were stirring in their beds, clattering in their kitchens, passing water, and taking on vitamins. It invigorated him, made him feel part of something huge and all-encompassing, like being in his father the mountain.“Up there,” Kurt said, pointing to a little playground atop the hill that rose sharply up Dupont toward Christie, where a herd of plastic rocking horses swayed creakily in the breeze.“Up there,” Alan agreed, and they set off, kicking droplets of dew off the grass beside the sidewalk.The sunrise was a thousand times more striking from atop the climber, filtered through the new shoots on the tree branches. Kurt lit a cigarette and blew plumes into the shafting light and they admired the effect of the wind whipping it away.“I think this will work,” Alan said. “We’ll do something splashy for the press, get a lot of people to change the names of their networks—more people will use the networks, more will create them… It’s a good plan.”Kurt nodded. “Yeah. We’re smart guys.”Something smashed into Alan’s head and bounced to the dirt below the climber. A small, sharp rock. Alan reeled and tumbled from the climber, stunned, barely managing to twist to his side before landing. The air whooshed out of his lungs and tears sprang into his eyes.Gingerly, he touched his head. His fingers came away wet. Kurt was shouting something, but he couldn’t hear it. Something moved in the bushes, moved into his line of sight. Moved deliberately into his line of sight.Danny. He had another rock in his hand and he wound up and pitched it. It hit Alan in the forehead and his head snapped back and he grunted.Kurt’s feet landed in the dirt a few inches from his eyes, big boots a-jangle with chains. Davey flitted out of the bushes and onto the plastic rocking-horses, jumping from the horse to the duck to the chicken, leaving the big springs beneath them to rock and creak. Kurt took two steps toward him, but Davey was away, under the chain link fence and over the edge of the hill leading down to Dupont Street.“You okay?” Kurt said, crouching down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Need a doctor?”“No doctors,” Alan said. “No doctors. I’ll be okay.”They inched their way back to the car, the world spinning around them. The hard-hats met them on the way out of the Vesta Lunch and their eyes went to Alan’s bloodied face. They looked away. Alan felt his kinship with the woken world around him slip away and knew he’d never be truly a part of it.
It was the wardriving, of course. Alan called out the names of the networks that they passed as they passed them, watching the flags pop up on the map of Toronto. They drove the streets all night, watched the sun go up, and the flags multiplied on the network.
Alan didn’t even have to explain it to Kurt, who got it immediately. They were close now, thinking together in the feverish drive-time on the night-dark streets.
“Here’s the thing,” Kurt said as they drank their coffees at the Vesta Lunch, a grimy 24-hour diner that Alan only seemed to visit during the smallest hours of the morning. “I started off thinking, well, the cell companies are screwed up because they think that they need to hose the whole city from their high towers with their powerful transmitters, and my little boxes will be lower-power and smarter and more realistic and grassroots and democratic.”
“Right,” Alan said. “I was just thinking of that. What could be more democratic than just encouraging people to use their own access points and their own Internet connections to bootstrap the city?”
“Yeah,” Kurt said.
“Sure, you won’t get to realize your dream of getting a free Internet by bridging down at the big cage at 151 Front Street, but we can still play around with hardware. And convincing the people whoalreadyknow why WiFi is cool to join up has got to be easier than convincing shopkeepers who’ve never heard of wireless to let us put antennae and boxes on their walls.”
“Right,” Kurt said, getting more excited. “Right! I mean, it’s just ego, right? Why do we need tocontrolthe network?” He spun around on his cracked stool and the waitress gave him a dirty look. “Gimme some apple pie, please,” he said. “This is the best part: it’s going to violate the hell out of everyone’s contracts with their ISPs—they sell you an all-you-can-eat Internet connection and then tell you that they’ll cut off your service if you’re too hungry. Well, fuck that! It’s not just community networking, it’ll be civil disobedience against shitty service-provider terms of service!”
There were a couple early morning hard-hats in the diner who looked up from their yolky eggs to glare at him. Kurt spotted them and waved. “Sorry, boys. Ever get one of those ideas that’s so good, you can’t help but do a little dance?”
One of the hard-hats smiled. “Yeah, but his wife always turns me down.” He socked the other hard-hat in the shoulder.
The other hard-hat grunted into his coffee. “Nice. Very nice. You’re gonna be alotof fun today, I can tell.”
They left the diner in a sleepdep haze and squinted into the sunrise and grinned at each other and burped up eggs and sausages and bacon and coffee and headed toward Kurt’s Buick.
“Hang on,” Alan said. “Let’s have a walk, okay?” The city smelled like morning, dew and grass and car-exhaust and baking bread and a whiff of the distant Cadbury’s factory oozing chocolate miasma over the hills and the streetcar tracks. Around them, millions were stirring in their beds, clattering in their kitchens, passing water, and taking on vitamins. It invigorated him, made him feel part of something huge and all-encompassing, like being in his father the mountain.
“Up there,” Kurt said, pointing to a little playground atop the hill that rose sharply up Dupont toward Christie, where a herd of plastic rocking horses swayed creakily in the breeze.
“Up there,” Alan agreed, and they set off, kicking droplets of dew off the grass beside the sidewalk.
The sunrise was a thousand times more striking from atop the climber, filtered through the new shoots on the tree branches. Kurt lit a cigarette and blew plumes into the shafting light and they admired the effect of the wind whipping it away.
“I think this will work,” Alan said. “We’ll do something splashy for the press, get a lot of people to change the names of their networks—more people will use the networks, more will create them… It’s a good plan.”
Kurt nodded. “Yeah. We’re smart guys.”
Something smashed into Alan’s head and bounced to the dirt below the climber. A small, sharp rock. Alan reeled and tumbled from the climber, stunned, barely managing to twist to his side before landing. The air whooshed out of his lungs and tears sprang into his eyes.
Gingerly, he touched his head. His fingers came away wet. Kurt was shouting something, but he couldn’t hear it. Something moved in the bushes, moved into his line of sight. Moved deliberately into his line of sight.
Danny. He had another rock in his hand and he wound up and pitched it. It hit Alan in the forehead and his head snapped back and he grunted.
Kurt’s feet landed in the dirt a few inches from his eyes, big boots a-jangle with chains. Davey flitted out of the bushes and onto the plastic rocking-horses, jumping from the horse to the duck to the chicken, leaving the big springs beneath them to rock and creak. Kurt took two steps toward him, but Davey was away, under the chain link fence and over the edge of the hill leading down to Dupont Street.
“You okay?” Kurt said, crouching down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Need a doctor?”
“No doctors,” Alan said. “No doctors. I’ll be okay.”
They inched their way back to the car, the world spinning around them. The hard-hats met them on the way out of the Vesta Lunch and their eyes went to Alan’s bloodied face. They looked away. Alan felt his kinship with the woken world around him slip away and knew he’d never be truly a part of it.