Suppose someone gave you a laptop.

No rules of the game states you must do anything. Instead of turning on the laptop, you could leave it in on the table where it will collect dusts, unused.

But if you do decide to use it, what would you do with it?

How would you play the game?

Would you plan and plan before you even type a word?

Would your plans be so extensive that you never even got to the typing?

Would you get someone to type for you, or would you take on the keyboard, plunge right in and just do it, struggling to keep up with the twists and turns of the torrents of words that take you where they take you?

Would you type cautiously, as if the battery might run dry the next moment, or would you pretend or believe (or pretend to believe) that the laptop's battery will lasts forever?

And of what would you type: placing instructions? marvellous deliverables? misery? life? death? nothing? everything?

Would you type to please yourself? or others? or yourself by typing for others?

Would your words be tremblingly timid or brilliantly bold? Fancy with a flourish or plain?

Would you stay in or on the lines, or see no lines at all, even if they were there? or are they?

Would you even type?

Once you have the laptop, no rule says you have to type.

Would you rather surf the net? play games? chat? doddle or draw?

There's a lot to think about here, isn't there?

Now, suppose someone gave you a life...