Where his gut had told him to go and where he hadn't
gone. You stop listening to your gut,
getting back in the swing of things proves a chore.
And you might pay a price, slow stepping. But he was taking steps and it
had felt good, rapidly scribbling down Gillespie's answers to his questions,
and he felt like a technology dynamo, propping his phone up between the dash
and the front window, putting it on speaker, asking her questions and listening
to her answers. Derek knew software
existed that would just record and transcribe every word anyone said, but he
couldn't imagine doing that. His old
man's brain had been warped by past procedures.
There wasn't time to learn how to be fast. Short term, he would abide the path worn down
by all those dinosaurs, all those skeletons littering the fourth estate. Long term, he'd familiarize his grey hairs
with the tech-dependent paths all the young Woodwards and Bernsteins tread.
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