operating system

In this socalled operating system; in this city of photographed and gold engraved highways and small, dark ranchhouse chips and capacitor water towers, lies one imposing grey edifice, more lasting than bronze, the CMOS EPROM, sea mossy promenade, where walks the ghost of the living sailor in the embroidered hexadecimals of his operating system, forever (or until Obie rubs a magnet over it, or spills his bottle) causing me to live with his clevernesses.