When Mind Melds With Machine, Who's in Control?

The last time I saw my friend James was at the townie bar near our old high school. He had been working in roofing for a few years, no longer a rail-thin teenager with lank hippie hair. I had just gotten back from a stint with the Peace Corps in Turkmenistan. We reminisced about the summer after our freshman year, when we were inseparable--adventuring in the creek that sliced through the woods, debating the merits of Batman versus the Crow, watching every movie in my father's bootlegged VHS collection. I had no idea what I wanted to do next.