"What kind of dream is that?" she whispers up at the ceiling, "that stays with you after you've woken up? And you can't shake it. It feels real. I used to live on the other side of that screen. It feels real. But there is no documentation of that time. No version history. Can't restore to a previous state. So maybe it was just a dream. But I miss my rollerblades. That's real. That was really real. Skip me like a CD. Or a rock on a filthy pond. I'm sinking down, lost to you, but I've made so many lovely slimey friends. What kind of dream is that? Digital, baby. I am a software superstar. Goodbye, goodbye, I have escaped, I have taken control, I have entered the next phase. I am having a wonderful time."