William Gibson lives in an overwhelmingly green suburb with old-money roots south of Vancouver's downtown, and it is in this suburb that I am currently wandering, looking for William Gibson. Yesterday, over lunch, he'd given me an address that seems not to actually exist, and just a minute ago, over the phone, he gave me a real address that wasn't his. I know this because I'm standing in front of a massive gated house, the kind of house in which a reclusive beverage magnate might live, marveling at the elaborate hedges, when Gibson appears behind me. He's laughing.
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