Emily McIllwain

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The commuters wore corporate identification badges clipped to their belt loops or draped on top of their jackets, like children trying not to get lost in a mall. They stood in line for the shuttles with their backpacks and reusable coffee cups; some slung bags of dirty laundry over their shoulders. They looked tired, resigned, sheepish. Mostly, they looked at their phones.
Uncanny Valley
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