When people sit at a bar and every seat is filled with someone hunched over their little device it gives me great relief knowing that oblivion is where we love to be. As I write this, thumb-tapping like every other mindless minion on this commuter train, I’m not watching any of the scenery, the dark colors of Portland springtime, the river and blossoms, I see nothing but the little blinky thing in my hand. I don’t see the quiet man reading or the nubile spring breaker in big sunglasses, I don’t even care. Indifference in the name of productivity. Oblivion in the name of living.