Freewrite from July (rough)

The man at the coffeebar hovers his touchscreen. No click-clack of the keyboard necessary, just fluid motion, smooth, over glass, skimming this digital skin - that wraps the new machines that guide us through our electronic surrogate lives. We stroke the inbox, caress the message, trace the photo's edge. There are no contours, but it is safe. And we need to touch something.