Lorna Mills and Sally McKay
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I am currently sitting in an internet cafe in Times Square. The floor space feels about the size of a small Walmart. It's very well-lit. There are banks and banks of blond wooden counters, each with a row of screens and keyboards. You pay for a ticket at an automatic booth (like buying a metrocard). The ticket has a number printed on it that you can then use to log on to a terminal and access the credit you purchased. It's a fast and easy system. The place has some human employees that wander around looking dazed. There is banal, pop-music jazz playing just loud enough to be noticeable. The atmosphere is working for me. It's very service-oriented but far from sterile. The keyboard is black with previous users' finger grime. It's a bit disgusting but there's something I like about it, just as I like the layers of human cultural residue that make up a city. Keep trying to remember not to rub my eyes til I've had a chance to wash my hands.