"Cory Doctorow - Scroogled" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dodd Christina)

"And you're dressed as...?"
"A suicide bomber," he replied sheepishly. Just saying the words made him wince.

"Come with me, Mr. Lupinski," the man said.

By the time he was released, it was past 3 a.m. His suitcases stood forlornly by the baggage carousel. He
picked them up and saw they had been opened and carelessly closed. Clothes stuck out from around the
edges.

When he returned home, he discovered that all of his fake pre-Columbian statues had been broken, and
his brand-new white cotton Mexican shirt had an ominous boot print in the middle of it. His clothes no
longer smelled of Mexico. They smelled like airport.

He wasn't going to sleep. No way. He needed to talk about this. There was only one person who would
get it. Luckily, she was usually awake around this hour.




SMILE! You're on Google camera

Maya had started working at Google two years after Greg had. It was she who'd convinced him to go to
Mexico after he cashed out: Anywhere, she'd said, that he could reboot his existence.

Maya had two giant chocolate labs and a very, very patient girlfriend named Laurie who'd put up with
anything except being dragged around Dolores Park at 6 a.m. by 350 pounds of drooling canine.

Maya reached for her Mace as Greg jogged toward her, then did a double take and threw her arms
open, dropping the leashes and trapping them under her sneaker. "Where's the rest of you? Dude, you
look hot!"

He hugged her back, suddenly conscious of the way he smelled after a night of invasive Googling.
"Maya," he said, "what do you know about Google and the DHS?"

She stiffened as soon as he asked the question. One of the dogs began to whine. She looked around,
then nodded up at the tennis courts. "Top of the light pole there; don't look," she said. "That's one of our
muni WiFi access points. Wide-angle webcam. Face away from it when you talk."

In the grand scheme of things, it hadn't cost Google much to wire the city with webcams. Especially when
measured against the ability to serve ads to people based on where they were sitting. Greg hadn't paid
much attention when the cameras on all those access points went public—there'd been a day's worth of
blogstorm while people played with the new all-seeing toy, zooming in on various prostitute cruising
areas, but after a while the excitement blew over.

Feeling silly, Greg mumbled, "You're joking."

"Come with me," she said, turning away from the pole.

The dogs weren't happy about cutting their walk short, and expressed their displeasure in the kitchen as
Maya made coffee.