"Maybe none of my biz," Duran went on, "but I think she’s got a point. Look around you, kid, and smell the soykaf. How many of these kids do you really think stand a chance in this world? The boys will grow up to be local yabos, and gutterkin, probably get geeked in a bimble-brained turf war between thrillers. The girls will end up selling their hoops, hoping some fragging prince in shining armor will come take them away from all this. The parents living in here, slot, they’re all chem-guzzlers, chipheads, and street haunts who couldn’t make it in the straight world and were too afraid of the shadows, or too damn slow to make a go of it there."