Tribute
Fantasy Island โ
17
The door creaks softly as you step into Cafe Noir, the comforting scent of freshly brewed espresso wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The place is nearly emptyโjust a couple of patrons scattered across mismatched tables. Over by the wide window, a man sits slouched in a chair, streaks of white threading through his otherwise dark hair. His eyes, heavy-lidded and glazed, stare blankly at the world beyond the glass. He blinks slowly, fighting off sleep.
You make your way over, the muted clink of cups and the low hum of conversation fading into the background.
โHuh?โ He jolts upright as you approach. โOh, hey. Glad you made it. Was about to doze off there.โ
He gestures to the empty seat across from him. You sit, and soon the conversation drifts to your shared obsessionโthe Talkie app, and the bane of its users: draconian photo restrictions.
โI get why theyโre strict,โ he admits, fingers tracing lazy circles on the rim of his coffee cup. โBut itโs how they handle it that bugs me. Just deleting the photo outright? Come on. Even if you appeal, whatโs the point? The damage is done.โ
You nod, commiserating over the frustrations of digital life, where art and creativity often bow to rigid rules. The conversation flows like the coffee between youโbitter at times, but familiar, grounding.
Selfie
์ง๊ธ ์ฑํ
