Visiting a dark church, I notice a bowed head in the front pew, haloed with rainbows from stained-glass saints in leaded windows. I respect his need for peace and soulful prayer.
Quietly tiptoeing to the altar, a sidelong glance reveals his cupped hands radiating light, and that he is texting.
Viv Burgess likes writing, it’s the thinking that is troublesome.
He lived inside his phone, drifting from app to app and nesting in the dim recesses of the End Call button.
He’d been there since the rotary days. The passing years had drastically reduced his living space.
He had no idea how he’d fit his mattress into a Bluetooth headset.
“I missed the train again,” whined Alyssa over the phone to Gunther, her unsympathetic pet gorilla.
Gunther said, “Suck it up, princess,” but it was in sign language, so Alyssa didn’t see.
“Thanks for listening, hun,” said Alyssa. “See you tonight!”
As usual, Gunther spent the day plotting his escape.