Apparently phone addicts get hooked on the repetitious movement of tiny images and lose control of their eyes the way a junkie loses control of her limbs.
Life meanders politely, eyes meet, pleasantries are exchanged, civilization is tamped down to a well worn path. Odors rise unremarked. No fart jokes in a church basement, nothing obtrusive. Just adults mixed with sugar.
In the hour between the end of school and the time her parents arrived, we crowded into their kitchen and sucked burned tobacco into our lungs.