Greetings. I don’t feel much like harping on about MacBooks, iPods and iPhones, so here’s a brief story that has absolutely nothing to do with Apple:
The first bus I ever rode in Scotland was piloted by an aged and weathered local with impressive sideburns and a particularly red nose. He spent the extent of our journey talking to himself in a low sort of buzz of a murmur, all without moving his mouth. I tried to decipher the words that slipped obsequiously from between his lips as his eyes stared absently into the sloppy gray rain, but could do nothing to understand what he was saying nor how he was saying it with such masterful effortlessness. When I got off the bus, I realized that the voice I heard did not belong to the driver at all, but rather was provided by a tiny wide-eyed man curled up in the small space between the driver’s seat and the window. I’m pretty sure he was reading Canterbury Tales.