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“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
`It’s not like I’m using,’ Case heard someone say, as he shouldered his way through the crowd around the door of the Chat. `It’s like my body’s developed this massive drug deficiency.’ It was a Sprawl voice and a Sprawl joke. The Chatsubo was a bar for professional expatriates; you could drink there for a week and never hear two words in Japanese.
Ratz was tending bar, his prosthetic arm jerking monotonously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay. ”
William Gibson: Neuromancer. Ace Books, New York. 1984. pp. 1.