Interface

His fingers danced across the keyboard like it was a piano, quickly and deftly, finding purchase rightly each time. Blazingly fast, he typed commands and words into his editors and command prompts.

By far, his typing was a lot faster than his talking. It seemed to most that he used this as a crutch, a digital crutch at least. He had once measured it with some typing software, the result was much faster than most secretaries, which surprised him. The trick was to learn to type without looking at the keyboard. This was hard to learn in the beginning but became almost second nature to him.

At his death, he wished to be buried with his cordless keyboard, the only real interface that he had known. Pristine and serene, used and abused.