LatinosUSA

I liked her dad. He was an interesting guy. Preached all day long about smartphone addiction while his daughter was on her smartphone, ignoring him.

“A human life,” he was saying. “Controlled by a piece of plastic with lights. A destiny completely determined by a machine designed by corporations to become god, to claim souls. How blind, how utterly and impossibly blind a whole generation of human beings can be. To willingly subject themselves to slavery like that. Their thumbs and fingers always tap-tap-tapping that screen as if trying to break their soul free from beyond. But it never happens. You cannot break a door by merely knocking on it…”

“Whatever, dude,” said his daughter with the phone before her face.

He shook his head and then looked at me. This time I too was looking at my phone.

“I see she has corrupted you too,” he said. “Shame. I was hoping it could be the other way around just for once.”

I let the phone down. “Me? Oh no, I was just checking my e-mail. I’ve sent some poems to a bunch of publishers and was hoping to see a reply or something.”

“Hm, and is there any reply?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

He nodded. “How about a beer?”

“Sure. Thanks.”