"So are we all," Anders said. He walked on asphalt, surrounded by heaps of concrete, silicates, aluminum and iron alloys. Shapeless, meaningless heaps that made up the gestalt city.
And then there were the imaginary lines of demarcation dividing city from city, the artificial boundaries of water and land.
All ridiculous.
"Give me a dime for some coffee, mister?" something asked, a thing indistinguishable from any other thing.
"Old Bishop Berkeley would give a nonexistent dime to your nonexistent presence," Anders said gaily.
"I'm really in a bad way," the voice whined, and Anders perceived that it was no more than a series of modulated vibrations.
"Yes! Go on!" the voice commanded.
"If you could spare me a quarter—" the vibrations said, with a deep pretense at meaning.
No, what was there behind the senseless patterns? Flesh, mass. What was that? All made up of atoms.
"I'm really hungry," the intricately arranged atoms muttered.