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There exists a tendency, of anyone born before roughly 1983, to perceive the computer as a static thing. It’s an entity, a beige box, at the least a container with value. Pass that ragged edge and they understand that the computer is a disposable access point to ephemeral markers of value: your Top Eight, your email, your flist and your icon collection. Your Facebook. Your away message. Your place in the world.

So what’s the next step? Rashid thinks he might know. He dreams of them sometimes, all in their tremendous gerbil balls, faces and handles flickering surfacewise in laser light.