Riding your motorcycle into San Narciso CA you might stop at an overlook to look down the slope, squinting for the sunlight, onto a vast sprawl of houses which have grown up all together, like a well-tended crop from the dull brown earth. You’ll think of the time you opened a transistor radio to replace a battery and saw your first printed circuit. The ordered swirl of houses and streets, from this high angle’ll spring at you now with the same unexpected, astonishing clarity as the circuit card had. Though you know even less about radios than about Southern Californians, there are in both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate. There’d seemed no limit to what the printed circuit could have told you; so in your first minutes of San Narciso, a revelation trembles just past the threshold of your understanding. Get used to it.
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