The ability to judge color

The type of red that told him it was swimming 24 hours ago. It was the best thing in the microfreeze, so he ordered too much. zero worry. He loved fresh tuna.

The place was devoid of customers, which left plenty of room for atmosphere. Demo pretended to be in Tokyo again, lost in the maze-like allies of Shinjuku West. It felt good to be back among the chaos of the pachinko parlors and long coat karaoke wranglers.

English... fuck. Like a dream Shinjuku was gone, replaced by a Japanese girl smiling, speaking perfect English. She was there to deliver the miso. In perfect American form she placed the bowl lazily down forcing him to rearrange everything. He bit down hard on a Japanese faze of thanks. She wouldn’t understand anyway.

He thought long about the past few days. Eventful and unexpected as they were, he enjoyed every minute. He was getting in deep when the display on his Nokia flashed "Bradthx". That’s when he realized it had been days since he talked with brad. He thumbed a button, and the device came alive. "Hey Hey". The Usual ACK/SYN. Conversation between them was a dance of reference and obfuscation. The introduction of the "Cryptonomicon" into each of their lives had changed the way they would communicate forever. No straight talk. Everything broke apart and forced down a mental 3DES tunnel. Secure. Not because they needed it, because it was fun.

The conversation lasted. Lots to talk about, but the sushi was gone, and Demo needed some go juice. He dropped the call, and threw money at 3 people. America was funny like that. Gotta tip everyone.

"Quad latte. Make it big", he thought, but it came out edited. "Large latte. Extra shot". Most coffee jockeys didn’t understand when you requested a quad anything, so he was forced to order in long form. Brief exchange of paper for caffeine, and he was go.

He forced his backpack to vomit its contents all over the table. A digital graveyard of technology took shape. Demo started hitting power buttons. Like a necromancer breathing life into a boneyard, the table was his army of undead. He kicked open a few tunnels to servers across the world, and collected information for his night of assembling code. The Nokia was dancing again, this time it cautioned "Fay". The expected call of the night. Fay was working on an optics bird for google. A tall order, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The two would meet and talk about technology every week or so as a sort of mental business vacation. He'd be there in 20 minutes.

An amazing piece of talent destroyed the focus Demo had on his deck. Tall, thin legs. Unique face. She dressed exactly the way she needed to, but made it look like an accident. Demo saw the guy next to him notice the talent. They exchanged a secret smirk. It was a complete conversation in one volley of expression.

Just in time. Fay arrived and the two talked for hours. By this time, Demo didn’t want to type anymore.