She puts her phone away when she has plans. It doesn't matter how casual or formal, could be coffee, lunch, dinner... It's policy out of respect for present human company. Her new friend at the beach does not put his phone away. He leaves it on the table and waits for it to need him.
She wonders how you can sincerely live in the moment when your mind is distracted by intercommunication. His security blanket is also his blindfold. She notes that he made no comment on the waiter's visible nose hair? Or the hummingbird on the tree that almost flew into her tangled hair? He is about to stir an ant climbing on his spoon into his coffee. This ant makes her day. She thinks, "what a little comedian."
He has no idea what is going on outside his head and his phone. He frequently glances over, breaking their eye contact, ready to tend to any of its signals for attention. She has seen phones do almost everything. Buzz, flash, ring, and sing. He is waiting for the next update or calulating his next string of communications. While having a conversation with her, he's comtemplating future messages. What is going to be funny? Cool? What will inspire a reply?
She sits and eats, examining the whole act. She patiently reminds him of what they were talking about. She understands she is not the priority. He and his audience are. She is an extra in his life show. She is glad she chose a restaurant with good food, and more importantly, to him, a slick reputation. He will communicate this experience to his audience and want to get together again. She will see him again because sometimes she chooses vain companionship over genuine solitude.
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