10:31am. Flour Bakery.
From outside the large windows, I see two young souls laugh over what I imagine to be a spleen-tickling meme.
4:54pm. Boston Common.
A couple saunters in front of me, heads in their phones like ostriches in the sand. Without peeling her eyes, she reaches for the her beau’s free hand, which floats by his side. No tactile feedback; dejection is impalpable. Her hand is freed to reply to a comment on her latest Instagram post.
8:09pm. Brick and Mortar.
The handsome bartender shakes up drinks for two complete strangers.