The website asked if I was human. I think so. Phone in hand, computer whirring, bright screens light my day. No, I think I still am.
He texted her; she texted him back. At dinner, they sat eating in a magnificent desolation, two satellites trading light.
She sent him yet another off-the-cuff but needy text. He answered with his charming sarcasm. Nothing beats the comfort of history & rapport.
The editor sits at his computer with a cup of coffee. Seeing no lights blinking on the side, he thinks, “Weird.” Restart? Nothing. “Uh-oh.”