When the rain swallowed the light all she could see were the red lanterns like receding runway beacons vanishing into fog, giving an impression that the lanterns might extend into the distance forever. They hung in the alley like pregnant, gestating chrysalis, advertising each prostitute for the johns. The bobbing rhythm of her pupils adjusting to the dark brought the orbs pulsing to life, projecting into her a sobering reminder of her singularity in a sea of many options. Through the umbrella cropped murk, a thin piece of wire ribbing punctured through the paper of her own lantern and she could see that the bulb lit with fatigue. New, younger red-light districts had opened in the city tiers below and more lantern wombs beckoned now than ever before- and with each new bulb concieved into existence the more infinitesimal she was becoming. She applied her makeup with extra care that night, found her perch within the sill, and watched the ground puddle reflections of the lanterns ripple and splinter into points of red light as if the concrete had opened up to flaunt a million new lanterns from the districts below.
filen0tf0und: He flexes an Umbuster to ward off droplets made of nature and something unnatural, shielding part of himself against part of the rain, and checks a weather update in the umbrella’s underside. Umbuster owns the handle, shaft, and chrome runner. But the canopy, stretcher, and ribs? Those belong to Takashi Matsumoto and Sho Hashimoto, the Razor and Blade of the Pileus ‘net Umbrella. And when I say Razor and Blade, I mean they killed in the court of copyleft shit incorporated. With so many DIYers transplanting parts, it was hard to know what belonged to what, so the company heads settled on a hybrid hard rain-shield that’s as piratical as it is practical. He raises the volume of his noise-cancelling earbuds as the storm makes itself obvious, dividing his attention between the weather app and glittering lanterns (not the authentic kind with real candlelight), together with the profusion of shops and commercial sign boards characteristic of a boulevard hell-bent on establishing a tone somewhere between eroticism and dreariness. The update is typical, leaving him to wonder why he checked it in the first place. 300 words could be summarized thusly: for the 13th night in a row, it would once again be “cyberpunk with a chance of rain”.
