The shop owner, a man who looked like he’d been soldering wires since the 1970s, slid a nondescript box across the counter. It wasn't a keyboard. It was a battered 3.5-inch floppy disk.
The shop owner, a man who looked like he’d been soldering wires since the 1970s, slid a nondescript box across the counter. It wasn't a keyboard. It was a battered 3.5-inch floppy disk.