Touch

by Courtney Maum

By asking people to cut the cord from their electronics, put handheld pen to paper, consider what it was they actually thought rather than parroting a think piece, they might find a way to their own brains again. And

Sloane would buy that shit—she’d buy that shit right up. She’d pay a boatload of cash to feel that home was indeed where her heart was, something she could carry inside of her, warm within her chest. As it was, home was a fractured concept, something out of reach. Or something she’d made very difficult to reach, which wasn’t the same thing.