When I was a boy, I observed with rapt fascination as secret agents, their collection of then-inconceivable gadgets always at hand, communicated verbally with the fine folks back at headquarters through their watches (and sometimes their shoes!). Brave men and women all, rushing off to save humanity from the Russians or the Martians or some other innately (if stereotypically) evil force!
Today, I observe with a sense of resigned mourning as a pleasant-looking elderly lady in an expensive suit speaks into her watch as she hurries past the perfume counter at my local department store, likely rushing off to save a few dollars on another suit or a set of bath towels or an expensive bottle of hand cream.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
Somewhere in time, the boy is weeping.
phillipmullins.com 
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