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I humped the banker’s box of CF floppies through the bullpen and into the accounting department, where a middle-aged Orthodox man with sidelocks and a wide-brimmed hat gave me a floppy disk with an invoice template on it. I slipped it into the box, then put the box into the back of Art’s van, and drove around to the loading dock, where I signed for a quartet of battered cardboard boxes containing a Fidelity 3000 (their 386 system), a monitor, a printer, and two floppy drives.

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