"Yick. Are those Via Spigas? Did you get those at Strawberry?" The 20-something PR lackey didn't actually say it, but his narrowed eyes, suspicious look at The List tacked to his clipboard, disapproving look at me, then back at The List, said it for him. The headset affixed to his cranium appeared to be held in place by a strategic combination of industrial-strength hair gel and the big head he'd developed during the past five days wielding Door Power at various 7th on Sixth affairs.