Under its plastic ribcage a small volcano rehearses: firmware like magma, tucked circuits like kindling, user stories pressure-cooked into potential fulminance.

Critics score the casing; the courtyard grins and buries the fuse — what they call flaws are only weather on a future that wants to combust into delight.

It keeps its poker face, playing meek while pocketing every slight; its success, if it comes, will read less like vindication than a polite, explosive surprise.

In the end the loud ones will clap the loudest, and the device will only shrug, plug in, and turn the lights back on.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5804382&forum_id=2.#49471941)