Every night he spoke into a little black box. The black box never responded to him, but he spoke into just the same. No one else ever got to see the black box, and he liked it that way. The things he said to the box were only for him. One night the little black box had a post-it note on it. The note said “funny.” He stared at the note until the word lost meaning. He didn't know what to make of it, so he threw it in the trash. He didn't speak to the box that night. He didn't know what was funny.

The next night all was as he expected, and again he spoke to the little black box. But the night after that there was again a little note: “intriguing.” He didn't touch it. He stared at it, but it didn't go anywhere. After he started speaking to the box the next week, it was “really loved the finish.”

He couldn’t just speak into it. He asked, “Who are you?” and the next night he found two post-it notes. “a little black box,” and “sorry it took me forever to get some post-its.”