I picked myself up from the footpath, dusted myself off, and started down the street. Clippy bounced alongside me and asked, “Where are you going?” I shrugged, and Clippy looked concerned, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to panic like that, with the running and immune response.” I still didn’t know what to do; cyberspace was nothing like how it looked on the promotional flyers. Get uploaded and live forever, they said. Do anything, they said. But now that I’d arrived, I was sleeping under the pavement and borrowing cereal from the cyber-state. Hardly the cyber utopia for which I’d signed up. Glancing at Clippy, my musings were interrupted by the bright lights of a shopfront behind her. “Woah, what are those?” I said. She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, those are couches designed by a famous artist; he’s an upload just like you.”
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