“The transit lanes were full of pathetic alien junk abandoned by the survivors in the aftermath of the war: personal effects, robbed of place and purpose and cultural definition, hard to identify in terms of human equivalence as the belt-buckles, book-ends or athletic trophies they undoubtedly were. Tiny, with the brain of a jackdaw and all the moral sensibility of a maggot in a cemetery, had been pocketing the shiner bits as he went along, exclaiming "Look at that, Truck!" and "Hey, someone's kicking himself for losing this!”
Book:The Centauri Device
