““That's all I got," Vonda sighs, and the apple is finished. She tosses the core across the room and our eyes follow the arc as it travels and lands with a moist plop in the empty wastebasket by the door. And then we just casually return to our own little stories. As if something acutely profound had not just happened. I couldn't believe it, how no on else seemed to hear, as though she had been speaking in a mystical tongue. But for me, that was the day I began to understand the irrefutable sense of touch. It is my only working theory.””
