It was down a mile-long gallery of these stimuli that Nell made her 
unexpected breakaway, looking from Harv's increasingly distant point of view 
like an ant scuttling across a television screen with the intensity and 
saturation turned all the way up, violently changing course from time to time 
as she was menaced by a virtual pitch-daemon lunging at her from the false 
parallax of a moving z-buffer, flaring like a comet against a bogus 
firmament of video black. She knew that they were fake and in most cases didn't 
even recognize the products they were pitching, but her life had taught her 
everything about dodging. She couldn't not dodge.