Anthrax leaned back in his chair and stretched his shoulders. His
hacking room was an old cloakroom, though it was barely recognisable
as such. It looked more like a closet--a very messy closet. The whole
room was ankle-deep in scrap papers, most of them with lists of
numbers on the back and front. Occasionally, Anthrax scooped up all
the papers and piled them into heavy-duty garbage bags, three of which
could just fit inside the room at any one time. Anthrax always knew
roughly where he had `filed' a particular set of notes. When he needed
it, he tipped the bag onto the floor, searched through the mound and
returned to the computer. When the sea of paper reached a critical
mass, he jammed everything back into the garbage bag again.
The computer--an Amiga 500 box with a cheap Panasonic TV as the
monitor--sat on a small desk next to his mother's sewing machine
cabinet. The small bookcase under the desk
was stuffed with magazines like Compute and Australian Communications,
along with a few Commodore, Amiga and Unix reference manuals. There
was just enough space for Anthrax's old stereo and his short-wave
radio. When he wasn't listening to his favourite show, a hacking
program broadcast from a pirate station in Ecuador, he tuned into
Radio Moscow or the BBC's World Service.
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