At almost midnight, five people lurch onto the fourth floor of a building with materials they’ve acquired in a small Vermont town for purposes of ghost hunting. Flashlights, meters for assessing electromagnetic field changes, small, round mirrors on the ends of long sticks that look like they would be best used at the dentist’s office. Goggles. Wine.

They should name this condition – being lonely for the place where you currently are.  They should call it “residency heart.”

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