She skates through, into the claustrophobic alleys of the Exchange. Orange 
and red datastores like books rise on row after row of shelves till they blur 
into infinity. Neona skates down the aisles till she spies the familiar icon of 
what is supposed to be a chubby old man with wispy hair, eyeglasses, and a 
rumpled suit. A chubby old man, except that he is pure, gleaming chrome and his 
glasses and suit are electric blue.