This beast is old enough to buy a gun and defend me in my sleep. It has seen viruses that it has outlived, it has seen me prosper in games since I was but a boy. This marvel of engineering wasn’t bought, it was inherited; this is a priceless heirloom that pleads for the permission to finally turn into a dusty brick or spontaneously combust. It pleads to an apathetic master that only orders it to clock another 500 hours in a random game that seeks its doom in the form of graphic advancements that move past it in a frenzy. My pc wants to slaughter me in an explosion as much as I seek to prolong its torture of running shaders on Minecraft. It’s a testament to the stubbornness of humankind and apathy to those who don’t walk in flesh.