CD-ROMs. Modems. PC Cards. The whole works. I don't know. Other
than the smart software agents we're putting in, what can we do
to make ours the all-out winner. The really intelligent
assistant."
"Mmm," Byron hummed.
"What we need is a new paradigm. A bigger-picture metaphor that
goes beyond what's already out there, taking this whole business
to not just the next possible step, but two or three steps ahead.
Something that really get the juices flowing. I mean, this is all
well and good, but is it good enough?" He knocked his fist gently
on the flowchart and stared intently at Byron.
"I'm with you."
Staring intensely at the drawing, Peter let out an exasperated
sigh. "I just don't know what it should be. And that's the
frustrating part."
Grace appeared at the doorway with a tray in her hands, holding
sandwiches, French fries, two glasses of milk. "Time for a break,
boys."
"Ah, relief," Byron said, rubbing his hands together. "Honey, we
got any vinegar for those fries?"
"Coming right up," Grace said, handing the tray to her husband.
"Now, while we eat," Byron said, blowing on a hot French fry,
"you can give your head a rest for a few minutes, and I promise
you, while your stomach is doing some work of its own, your
brain'll be busy too."
"I'm not so sure," Peter said. He took a sip of his milk.
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