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Down beneath city in the steel guts and hardwired girders of San Paolo, the off-clock street vendors and tired trans-techs gathered in smoke-soaked parking garages. Here they metamorphosed into a beast with a thousand leering, cheering mouths. Nightly it beset two men and fed off the fetid ferocity generated by the contest. Far from being the seedy, illegal brawls of the early 21st century, the weekly grudges were broadcast live across all the sportsnets for anyone, and everyone, to palpitate over. Credits, cash, bonds, and illicit chemicals freed themselves of some hands to find their way into another. Tonight the fighter vibrated with anticipation and gleeful violence. He stood loosely in the corner of the c-fiber ring, a
[This message has been edited by Kathleen Dalton Woodbury (edited August 03, 2009).]
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