Absalom knew exactly what would happen the moment he logged on to his old laptop. The silver colour of the device, along with the stickers from Canadian punk bands that never broke it big, triggered a chain reaction. He’d open a photo folder filled with pictures of his family, like he and his half-brother at all these old concerts, and stay there a while. This was why he kept the laptop, after all—for the old memories. It wasn’t because he needed the device to be a conduit of his unrelenting desire. If he touched the laptop, it was like he gave himself permission. Soon enough, he’d open the browser. Go incognito. He’d go to a porn site, a chat room, or a Craigslist thread. Like divination, he’d take all these random objects and project it into a destined future, where he was online and loo
