Cray 1 supercomputers, the round ones. The other ones those guys are leaning over--those could be a row of washing machines! They're not. That guy in blue could be a Best Buy sales associate, making a sale on a computer washing machine. The brown-haired guy in the white stripy shirt just got a divorce and a settlement from his business partner. He doesn't need marriage to get his laundry washed. He doesn't need marriage for anything. In the absolute back row you've got cabinets filled with floppy discs and fireproof safes filled with papers and patents and film slides of pornography. This is all when they live in an atomic tomorrow in Florida. There's high-rises in the swamps of public Florida. They all sit and stew angrily in cramped people-movers when they have to get around, so mostly they stay put. Some people hallucinate from tiny trace amounts of swamp gasses that routinely leak into the sub-surface people-mover capsules that travel to and fro beneath the swamps. For these unlucky few, the dangers are manifold. You don't ever want to go swamp crazy. That's what they say. Local news station got its license suspended for reporting on the effects of long-term swamp poisoning. Nobody talks about where the radiation goes, you know, from the atomic power that runs everything. But that gets crowded out by the sheer volume of the paranoia related to swamp gas.