She’s perched perky until the sun sinks, cutting ceaseless clicking sounds with her crystalline cuticles on the QWERTY. Every now and then, she electrifies the still air with her candied voice on the desk phone. Or she gleams in smiles and wiles at whoever walks in.
She commands, and chats with, the glowing LCD in the assured vocals of an e-expert, and fires urbane banter with me, while we wait for my pen drive to check in. She flirts, she sparkles, she menaces!
But when she’s done downloading the data from my doodad, she ejaculates it cold without pomp or preparation. And she’s just committed gizmocide! I get cracking back to the office, careworn to find out if my virtual info is, perhaps, immortal.