“John, you’re late again!”, Jill cried out from upstairs. Knowing better than to pass judgement, she merely inquired, “What was it, this time?”

“Well, you know how when I come home, I always drive by the computer store on 4th avenue?”, he replied, shouting back up to her as he climbed the stairs.

“Yeah”, Jill replied reluctantly, almost knowing how this little tale would continue, having seen it dozens of times before in their 18-month relationship.

She could predict that there’d be something in his hands as he came up the stairs, some box of gadgetry. It’d have a shiny logo on the side, with some larger-than-affordable price tag and credit-card slip attached to the top.

Jill glanced over into “the computer room”, which had started as a simple spare bedroom, until John had brought home his third “node”, as he had called it. The bed had long since been removed, to make room for the floor-standing eight-color dye-infusion printer.

“Well, it’s gone”, he said. “Replaced by a 7-11.”