Imagine - scan a pack of gum and get to an micro site; scan a dedicated image in a shop and get a coupon.
One imagines them scanning the screen for a glimpse — perhaps the last — of a loved one, and recoiling from the suffering and destruction that can only have seemed too close and too real.
I imagine Bieber scanning Keller's immensely readable prose, drumming his fingers across one of his many Jesus tattoos, letting the grace of the lord fill his sinful heart, his eyes growing big and hopeful when Keller asserts that getting married is "part of the process of liberating the emerging 'new you.'" The idea of becoming someone new is appealing to any troubled person.
Now imagine if we scanned the news articles about the political process and found three things to be thankful for.
As you scan, imagine warmth spreading from the top of your head, down your neck, over your shoulders, down your arms, down your torso, down your legs, and moving out through your feet.
Imagine a jury scanning George Cruikshank's acrid cartoons and sketches, Hone's finest accompaniments.
But search technology is becoming a commodity, and if it turns out there is any money in it, it is not impossible to imagine a hundred mavericks scanning out-of-print books.
The trackers leave camp at dawn and watching them at work is, I imagine, like watching soldiers scanning an area for landmines; they tread softly and rarely look up, their eyes flitting across the ground as they search for broken twigs, massive footprints and dollops of warm dung.
The "construct scene" condition required subjects to imagine novel scenes during scanning.
Imagine home CAT scans in the privacy of your own marble bathroom.
