He didn't close the client. He never did. He just minimized the window and went to pour a glass of water. The house was silent. He thought about the year 1998. He thought about his father holding the camcorder, a heavy brick of technology resting on his shoulder, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat. He realized he hadn't seen the footage in twenty years. The VHS tape had been lost in a move, or maybe recorded over, a casualty of a messy divorce and a cluttered storage unit.
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