Here's a short passage from my story titled: Pittsburgh's Prodigal Daughter.

A quarter of a century passes and not much changes. Sure people come and go, as do businesses; buildings go up and buildings come down and whole hillsides become strip malls and we call it progress. We hardly take notice that we can’t see the stars anymore or feel the pulse of Mother Nature’s heartbeat beneath our feet. We feel lost and don’t know why. We connect to the fictional characters on the little big screen but can’t connect with the neighbor next door. She was glad that people could relate to the characters she wrote about in her scripts and novels; they told her so in so many countless emails forwarded to her by her agent, but she’d give it all up to feel a closeness to someone she had not created in the figment of her imagination.