A dozen people sit down at a huge conference table on the 25th
8oor of a skyscraper in Manhattan. In the middle of the table is a
long slit bristling with charging outlets. One at a time we plug into
the slot our smart phones, notebook computers, and iPads, and
settle in behind our devices.
On the screen of the woman sitting next to me an image of a red
beating heart suddenly lights up. She blushes and quickly deletes
it. Zip! The man across from me pulls his iPad out of its charger
and stands up to take a panoramic picture of the view of the
Freedom Tower under a sky Jlled with snow 8urries. Back at the
conference table he sends off the photo in an email. Zip!
My shoes get entangled in a jumble of cables under the table.
Where are they going? Where is that place where all our
messages, photos, fears, losses, and desires are sent forever?