My family is attempting to resurrect a second generation iPod. We thought it had died when it started to make strange whirring noises (we assumed it came from the faulty hard disk inside) but my dad, after a random whim today, made one last defribillation of sorts and the most expensive mirror in the world started to whir back to life.
"It's... alive!" My sister exclaimed, sweeping back her tousled hair.
The screen flickered and flashed that familiar welcome message. Our eyes lit up, half reflecting the electric blue light, half glittering with optimisim, glimmering with the intensifying suspense. My sister plugged in the ubiquitous white earphones, nearly trembling and missing the metallic input socket, thumbs brushing excitedly around the touch-screen sensor wheel (the click wheel had not been invented yet), and the reassuring sound of dull clicking reverberated beneath our sweaty, clammy palms.
I guess I'm sensationalizing too many details, but it's more or less like that. My sister's hair is never tousled, by the way.
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