He spoke camly, without the luster age brought. I couldn't help but listen to his words, voluminous in content. He taught me what "connotation" really meant. "It's like this eager mind, I cannot speak unless you know how to listen. My words are a railroad of quality. I couldn't keep a basnk full of my words, they're that good."
Maybe I was wrong. Conceit is a term used to describe characters, in what I don't remember. He was a character. I wondered, where did his mind go? "Where did your mind go?"
He wavers. Thinking, which must be hard when the meat space where his brain should have been was replaced with faulty circuitry. "I.... I don't remember. My memories begin beofre I was a primordial, meats[ace think. I think I must have wanted to forget those times, that transition."
"Age hasn't brought you wisdom."
"Youth hasn't brough you any either. If you don't like it, you can jack out and jack off."
He was right. But this was my webspace now. Old transient;s like him, done before the process was full bodied, like wine, were xeroxed poorly. They stagnate.
"You have no grown."
"You wouldn't either, if you let them put holes in your past."