It's 5:30 p.m., and you're about to leave for home (and planning to fetch your daughter from her violin class on the way) when you get called into a meeting with, say, the President. Sitting in the Oval Office with something that looks like an electronic notepad on steroids cradled in your palm, you discreetly dash off a message: "Running late. Be patient." With the tap of a pencil-like stylus, your note is beamed through the ether to the other side of town, where it lodges in a similar device, stowed in your daughter's book bag, and sets off a little...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
