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Here I was, a few minutes ago, overfed after a delicious dinner with friends in my birth town—for once not plagued by industrial smells, as the winds were blowing away from the city and into the adjacent countryside—and pondering over all the different scenarios that would present themselves to me in the new day.

Briefly, the new day’s conundrum concerned: a ticket to Franz Ferdinand’s concert tomorrow night (tonight, rather), the hours of driving that would take me to Turin and back, the sleepiness that would ensue. I was about to commit my thoughts to Twitter, something along the line of “The night will bring clarity to the whole Franz Ferdinand conundrum,” but I soon realized that Twitter was, just like I, overfed.

Too many tweets. The picture of a flock of birds lifting a whale by pulling strings with their beaks. For a moment my thought was “What am I going to do now?” almost as if there were no other way to express my idea. Overfed and lost, albeit only for a moment—until I realized that it made no sense to be lost because of Twitter’s momentary lack of presence.

Has Twitter become such an extension of my thoughts? Were I more awake I’d find it scary.