Our baby screams at the computer.
Evenings, I stuff him in a sling and try to surf the Web while soothing him to sleep. But he pounds my chest and sobs.
"Strange," I tell my wife. "It’s the only time he yells."
"Huh," she says, browsing KateSpade.com on her iPad.
One night, his shriek sounds loud enough to make my head spin. I reel --
seeing my fingernails ragged and cracked, my wife’s patchy, scabrous scalp, and burning on our screens the all-encompassing, all-consuming, unknowable sigil
-- and clap hands to my ears. "Stop it," I grumble before returning to Google News.
Connectivity by I Saw Lightning Fall
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