Your New Friend
"Congratulations!" the email read. "Live Journal is your new friend."
I looked up blearily, squinting in the sudden sunlight. All around me children played, their voices alternately shrieking and laughing. I looked down. Two stubby feet stood half-planted in a pile of woodchips.
"I'm yer new best friend," said an overly-round boy in a high-pitched imitation of a mafia voice. His two friends seemed manifestly less certain about what they were doing, but he bulled on with the ease of a salesman giving a practiced pitch. "You'd want to help your friends, right?"
I blinked. The moment was gone, and once again I sat in front of my monitor.
"I'm your new friend," whispered Live Journal. "Your new friend."
I looked up blearily, squinting in the sudden sunlight. All around me children played, their voices alternately shrieking and laughing. I looked down. Two stubby feet stood half-planted in a pile of woodchips.
"I'm yer new best friend," said an overly-round boy in a high-pitched imitation of a mafia voice. His two friends seemed manifestly less certain about what they were doing, but he bulled on with the ease of a salesman giving a practiced pitch. "You'd want to help your friends, right?"
I blinked. The moment was gone, and once again I sat in front of my monitor.
"I'm your new friend," whispered Live Journal. "Your new friend."