The red light district.

Laptop is at Toshiba service center. Hard disk error of some sort. I brought it to the center atop the highest floor of Plaza Low Yat. I was cradling the metal child in my arms, its limp cords swinging back and forth as I ascend escalator after escalator. The multitude of vendors along the way that call out to me, whoring their services to me, offering to repair my baby for a small fee. I hated that it was so obvious. I ignored them, and pushed my way forward. What the hell does UG stand for? I ascend.

I got to the fourth floor, and on to the Toshiba service center. It was like an oasis of quieted whiteness amidst the hustle-bustle downstairs. The walls and floor were immaculately shiny. No gaudy, flourescent signs that said "UNLOCKING/JAILBREAK". Just serenity. I was in heaven. I was told to take a number. I sat and waited, as the person in front of me fills up some paperwork. I knew I was next. I knew what had to happen. I handed her over. Was made to put my signature on paper. It wasn't even to fix her. Just a diagnosis. A fucking diagnosis. I signed.

Yeah so basically I have no laptop. Until some unspecificied time next week. They got back to me pretty fast on the diagnosis, so I have hope in the time it'll take them to fix my hard disk. Or was it my hard drive. What's the difference. I don't care.