“Searching, I think.” “You think?” Every once in a while I got this feeling about a job. Not really a premonition, but not a gut feeling either. Anxiety buzzed in my fingertips like TV static, fizzing and spreading through my palms and wrists and elbows. It clung to my skin, thousands of static shocks vibrating my bones until I tried to force it away with a frantic shake of my hands, tried to stim it out by snapping my fingers near my ears or rubbing them together to get the feeling back in them. When that didn’t work, I started searching.
