" he ran his palms up the warmth of her bare back, beneath the white T-shirt, that the people in his life weren’t beads strung on a wire of sequence, but clustered like quanta, so that he knew her as well as he’d known Rudy, or Allison, or Conroy, as well as he knew the girl who was Mitchell’s daughter. “Hey,” she whispered, working her mouth free, “you come upstairs now. "

― William Gibson , Count Zero (Sprawl, #2)