Prochitav zdorovennyy (no chitayushchiysya na odnom dykhanii) roman, ya predstavil sebe portnogo, kotoryy beret v ruki vorokh blestyashchikh, perelivayushchikhsya, prekrasnykh obrezkov, loskutkov, zolotykh nitochek, prikidyvaya, chto za strannuyu odezhdu mozhno poshit' iz etogo, kak sformirovat' obraz etoy budushchey, virtual'noy eshche odezhdy. Pover'te, eto bylo ne prosto: derzha v pamyati svezhie vpechatleniya o romane, takie zhe raskhristannye i zavorazhivayushchie, iskryashchiesya i sverkayushchie, kak te loskuty u togo portnogo (no tol'ko eshche zhivye, goryachie, vlazhnye i dymyashchiesya, kak krov' na moroze), skazat', khotya by samomu sebe, o chem etot roman? (Evgeniy Milyavskiy)
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