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Wired for Life

Wired for Life WIRED FOR LIFE/ Steve Almond JANIE MET THE ELECTRICIAN Charlie Song in August. The AC adapter to her laptop had frayed, and the connection kept failing. Thus, she was forced to jiggle the plug until the current returned, at which point she would have to remain very still for many minutes at a time--she worked with the laptop on her actual lap, which was ridiculous, she knew, pathetic, but there you had it--lest the sadistic plug icon disappear and the machine revert to battery mode, which was supposed to last six hours but which ran down (and this Janie had timed) Ui seventeen and a half minutes. It was a Uttle like being a hostage. Charlie Song's shop was on a stretch of Mass Avenue that was constantly being torn up. Great chunks of asphalt lay about, while men m hard hats and dirty shirts murmured mto cell phones. They were hostages, too, though they seemed somewhat liberated by their proximity to loud and senseless destruction. Inside the shop, dozens of computers had been disemboweled. The ers like little black eggcups. Keyboards dangled from their cords. Had Torquemada worked in the high-tech medium, this would have been his http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Wired for Life

The Missouri Review , Volume 26 (1) – Oct 5, 2003

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

WIRED FOR LIFE/ Steve Almond JANIE MET THE ELECTRICIAN Charlie Song in August. The AC adapter to her laptop had frayed, and the connection kept failing. Thus, she was forced to jiggle the plug until the current returned, at which point she would have to remain very still for many minutes at a time--she worked with the laptop on her actual lap, which was ridiculous, she knew, pathetic, but there you had it--lest the sadistic plug icon disappear and the machine revert to battery mode, which was supposed to last six hours but which ran down (and this Janie had timed) Ui seventeen and a half minutes. It was a Uttle like being a hostage. Charlie Song's shop was on a stretch of Mass Avenue that was constantly being torn up. Great chunks of asphalt lay about, while men m hard hats and dirty shirts murmured mto cell phones. They were hostages, too, though they seemed somewhat liberated by their proximity to loud and senseless destruction. Inside the shop, dozens of computers had been disemboweled. The ers like little black eggcups. Keyboards dangled from their cords. Had Torquemada worked in the high-tech medium, this would have been his

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 2003

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