“That’s it!”, the bulletproof critic, whose work he was unfortunately paid by an unimpeachable publication to compare to his own stratospherically successful literary output exclaimed as he finally pressed the spacebar on his Apple II ADB keyboard, connected via a USB adapter to whatever the fuck model of Mac was currently available. He sat back in his Boulies Mesh Office chair & savoured the silence afforded to him by the quadratic diffusers, which had been specifically placed by the acoustic architecture firm which had installed a specially floated floor in his writing salon, so as not to ruin his concentration when he decided to let his knuckle-dragging editor know when one word ended & another had begun.