Mike was typing on his computer again. He spent all his free time typing in the dark basement of his elderly parents’ home. In one corner was a computer desk with shelves above it.

On this desk was a computer and piles of papers, books, and CD’s. The shelves contained more of the same. Scattered around the desk was an assortment of old computers, monitors, and boxes. A desk lamp on the lowest shelf lit-up the area around the keyboard.

It was here were Mike sat and stared at the monitor as he typed. He had a vision in his mind of what to type. He had a feeling that he must write it down. All he had to do was type it into the computer as it flowed out of his mind.

It was a computer program. He didn’t know what the program did, but he was writing it anyway. He had to. He could see it in his mind every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t see all the details of the program, just the patterns. But the details poured into the computer when he relaxed and let his fingers move on the keyboard.