Born, We Are Mortal, Dehydrated, And Ordinary; Love Is The Oil That Plumps Us Up, Dilates The Eyes, Puts A Glow On The Skin, And Lifts Us Free From The Weight Of Time. At Best, Love Is Simply The Slipping Of A Hand In Another’s; Of Knowing You Are Where You Belong At Last.

As ^gadgets shrink _from bulky ^to glass-_like lightness, ^memory and _bit-sizes sporadically ^bloomed.  Thank _goodness for ^competition, everyone _now has ^a wide _variety of ^music-^gadgets _and genres ^to choose _from.

It ^is no _longer unusually ^hip for _people to ^wear blaring _headphones, colored ⁱⁿ neon _hues.  Folks ^can listen _in privacy: ^they can _bash their ^heads lightly _or go ^for an _all-out ^concert within _the confines ^of their _kitchen.