Here lies a tale that must be told, though it pales beside the Greek tragedies of yore. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you — the Fall of Thom the iPod.
Thom is (I mean, was) a young lad of two, though his scars suggest that he was actually much older.
Born in China under the watchful eyes of quality controllers (hopefully), he eventually found fame in Suntec City where admirers caressed his glorious Californian tan and detractors defiled his modern beauty.
Yet with the passage of time, he shone no more and retreated behind a forlorn glass wall.
One day, a knight came and set him free. Together with his mysterious saviour, they weathered equatorial heat and Soviet winters alike; saw fools and kings; braved through the void and the darkness of the soul. Ensemble, nous étions invincible.
Yet all things doth pass away and one wintry afternoon, one fatal fall claimed his final breath. O Thom, that which dies is but the tangible! The soul lives long and I shall seek you a new form.
Update: Thom 2.0 (left) playfully mirroring his fifteen-year-old analog counterpart (right).
