The door in front of her was old, a carved slab of Thai teak that seemed to have been sawn in half to fit the low doorway. A primitive mechanical lock with a stainless face had been inset beneath a swirling dragon. She knelt, drew a tight little roll of black chamois from an inside pocket, and selected a needle-thin pick. “Never much found anybody I gave a damn about, after that.”
Source: Neuromancer ▫𓂃
(echo:: @ ⌗)