Time, or shall I say, relativity, is a funny thing. Sometimes I feel as if it was just yesterday that I looked into the eyes of the man who later had part in breaking into my office and stealing Murdoch.

Other times, i.e. now, as my fingers move across the keys, creating that familiar sound, it feels like it’s been forever since I typed.

And it has. I’ve missed it.

For the longest time, every night, my fingers and the keys of Murdoch would have their dance. An orchestra of keystrokes and machine whirr, whereby at the end of it, we’ll have a story, a poem, or a heartwarming email.

Those days are over now, but it’s time to move on. There’s a new machine in my life. He hasn’t got a name for the moment, but he feels French.

Just my thoughts,

-parrot-

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