Sound travels uninterrupted as long as it has a medium to travel through. Up here in the sky where I often hover, the air is thin, and soundwaves decay, but my uncanny ability at deciphering signals allows me to record the gist of any conversation.
At sunset, the dimming rays travel through me at a sharp angle turning me into a prism, coloring my edges purple, before beaming down onto the sleepy earth.
A man is standing on the sidewalk on Blink Street looking at his phone. He mumbles in a childish, sarcastic voice, “My friend Tina loves this restaurant”, then closes the messaging app and activates the search bar of Golp, his default search engine. The digital keyboard pops up. He types: The Meaty Fish reviews. Three to three and a half stars. Complaints range from poor service to cold food to just awful drinks. He opens the messaging app again and types: Reviews are bad.
The waves travel from his cell phone, bounce on a tower on top of a skyscraper, then shoot straight down to Grove Street where they infiltrate a large window, landing on the receiver of a cell phone.
The chyme startles a girl although she is staring at her phone. She puffs her cheeks, shaking her head. She types in her messaging app: Stop reading reviews from people you don’t know. A response arrives: But you are reading reviews too. She answers: I listen to reviews only from people I know. Answer: but you don’t know hundreds of people. She types: I sort of know them. Answer: digitally. She types: Whatever.
She opens Apace, the only social media app on her phone, and types in the search bar: The Meaty Fish, then sets the limit of the search results to Personal Connections. She snaps a screenshot, attaches it to the text message, and sends it.
The man on Blink Street looks at the image. Five stars. The ambiance is hip, food amazing. “We live in different worlds”, he says.
At 7:00 PM, the man holds his phone up and takes a photo of the sign hanging over the glass front: The Meaty Fish, lit in bright red-orange. Looking at his phone, he rolls his eyes. “Corny”, he mumbles.
Inside the restaurant, the girl from Gove Street speaks loudly, barely overpowering the ambient hip music. “This is Dave, all,” she says.
“Hi all,” Dave says, settling next to the girl.
“Hi Dave,” everyone says in unison.
The girl speaks again. “This is Marcy, Mike, Tina, and Tracy.”
Dave shifts in his seat, his heart rate rising slightly.
“Joy,” Tina yells. “You never told us how you guys met.”
Joy removes her phone from her purse, placing it on the table. It takes her longer than usual to respond to such a trivial question, her heart skipping a beat here and there. “Sort of online.”
“Like through a dating app?” Marcy asks.
“No, through work.” Joy answers
“We were both attending a virtual marketing meeting,” Dave says after a short pause in conversation. “My company hired Joy’s company to consult about online advertisements.”
“And?” Tina asks.
“Well,” Joy says. “Dave sent me a private chat message during the meeting asking for my phone number.”
“What?” A jumble from everyone.
“Couldn’t you just find her profile on Apace and message her?” Marcy asks.
Dave doesn’t respond immediately. “I was just being courteous.”
“I think sending a private message during a business meeting is way too aggressive,” Mike says.
“He’s a bald guy,” Joy says before Mike finishes speaking.
“And then?” Tina asks.
“Well, I thought he was cute so I sent him my Apace handle, but he insisted on having my cell number, so I thought, what the hell.”
“Why didn’t you just message her Apace,” asks Marcy.
The song changes to a more popular and louder one. No one speaks for almost twenty seconds, then Dave pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up at the level of his face. “I’m a Golper.”
Silence for ten seconds. Joy’s heart rate rises, her sweaty fingers rubbing the sides of her phone.
“You didn’t switch, did you?” Tina asks, her words coming out slowly, one at a time, with a brief pause in between.
“No, no,” Joy says, rather rapidly. “Still an Apacer,” she adds, holding up her phone. “Once an Apacer, always an Apacer.”
“And how do you guys communicate and get to know each other?” Mike asks. “I mean, you can’t see each other’s profiles.”
“Text messages and we often talk over the phone,” Dave says.
“Interesting,” says Marcy. “That’s an experiment.”
“Listen, we can’t be the only ones,” Joy says. “I mean, I’m sure other people must be in the same situation, right?”
“I don’t know,” Tina says. “You have to go out of your way to meet someone who is not on Apace.”
“Random chance,” Dave says.
“The good old way,” Mike says, but there is sarcasm in his voice, a hint of disapproval.
Dave opens his camera app and zooms in on the QR code in the middle of the table. The menu of The Meaty Fish opens up and his eyes begin scanning the cocktail list. “What’s good in here,” he asks.
Joy types in her Apace app search box, meaty fish cocktails, limiting the search to Personal Connections. “The blackberry margarita seems to be a hit,” she says.
“Oh, love blackberry margarita,” Mike says. “I think I’ll get it.”
“Last time I had The Dancing Mule,” Tina says. “It had great reviews too.”
“Yeah, I see it here,” Joy says. “Someone says that the bitters are too strong.”
“Anything with bourbon?” Dave asks.
“No, no mention of bourbon,” Joy says.
Dave continues scrolling and finds a section called The Classics With a Twist. “They have a New Old Fashioned here.”
Joy types in the Apace search box, meaty fish new old fashioned, still limiting the results to Personal Connections, but nothing pops up. She changes the filter to Wider Circle, and a number of reviews appear, good or fair, some not great. She holds the phone in front of Dave’s face.
Dave looks at Joy’s phone briefly, then types in the Golp search box of his phone: cocktails at the meaty fish. Photos of drinks fill the screen. The default order is set to: Most to Least Popular. He changes it to: Highest to Lowest Ratings. The Strawberry Mojito is on top of the list, followed by the Cocopuffer. The Blackberry Margarita is a few entries down. The Dancing mule even further down. The New Old Fashioned has only a few reviews, all good. One reviewer wrote: A modern twist on a classic.
The waitress asks if they decided on drinks. Mike, Tina, and Joy order the Blackberry Margarita, Marcy orders the Dancing Mule, then says, “I don’t mind the bitters,” as though justifying her decision.
Dave takes his eyes off his phone and hesitates for a moment before ordering the New Old Fashioned with an assertive tone.
“It doesn’t have great reviews,” Joy says.
“I’ll decide for myself,” Dave says.
“We have a cowboy here,” Mike says.
Joy hands the waitress her phone and asks her to take a group photo, then she snaps a few selfies, some alone with the dining room behind her, some with Dave, and some with the others gathered around her. She looks at the new photos one by one, zooming in on her face, then chooses a few to upload to Apace with an entry: Great time with friends at the Meaty Fish. The other phones around the table beep with various chimes. Comments and Likes appear almost immediately on Joy’s phone.
“Let me see,” Dave pleads.
“Hold on.” Joy opens her messaging app, selects Dave’s last message, and attaches the new photos. Two buttons appear, a large one for Share on Apace, and a small one for Send as Attachment. She presses the small one.
Dave’s phone beeps several seconds later. He opens the messaging app and waits for the photos to download, then uploads them to his cloud storage. “Nice,” he says.
“So, are you going to post them on Golp?” Mike asks, giggling. The others laugh, then Joy says, “stop it, Mike.”
Dave closes his photo app. “Maybe I’ll send them to my mom.”
The waitress speaks over the loud music, “Blackberry Margarita, Blackberry Margarita, Blackberry Margarita, Dancing Mule, and, New Old Fashioned.”
Joy immediately snaps a photo of her drink, then of Dave’s. “Tell me if you like it. I’ll put a review.”
“Sure,” David says, but his tone does not sound enthusiastic
“Yumm,” Tina says.
“This is great,” Joy says. “Five stars.”
“I see what they mean by the bitters,” Marcy said. “I think it’s pretty good. Maybe I’ll get the Blackberry Margarita next time. Can I try yours?”
“Ready to order?” the waitress asks.
Dave opens the menu on his phone and scrolls slowly. Mike orders The Meaty Salmon with Honey Glaze.
“I didn’t see you look at the menu?” Dave asks.
“I don’t need to,” Mike says. “It’s all on my personal page reviews.”
“Oh,” Dave says.
The three others place their orders quickly.
“You should convert,” Mike says with a forceful tone. “It’ll make your life so much easier, trust me. Why go through the menu when your friends can tell you what’s good and what’s not.”
“I like to try for myself,” Dave says, his eyes scanning the menu.
“Torture,” Tina says. “Learn from the experience of others.”
“Words of wisdom,” Marcy says.
“Leave him alone,” Joy says. “He’s trying to read the menu.”
“Boring,” Mike says.
Taking his eyes off his phone, Dave says, “Torn between the Mighty Crisp and the Welly Belly. Which do you recommend?”
“Neither of them has good reviews,” Joy says, then begins typing in the Apace search bar.
“I personally prefer the Mighty Crisp,” the waitress says. “But both are excellent choices. The Mighty Crisp has a thick crispy salty skin. The Welly Belly is mild and more meaty.”
Dave places his phone on the table. The waitress looks down at his phone and smiles.
“I’ll go with the Mighty Crisp then,” he says.
“Great choices,” the waitress says. “Another round of drinks?”
“It says here that the Mighty Crisp is too greasy,” Joy says in a low voice.
“My kind of food,” Dave says. “I’ll burn it all at the gym tomorrow.”
“Oh God,” Mike says loudly. “Did you see this about the mayor?”
“What?” Marcy asks.
“Hold on,” Mike says. “Let me repost it.”
“Mayor Weintraub?” Dave asks.
“He admitted to racism and homophobia,” Tina says.
“No way,” Dave says. “He’s neither of those. Where did you see this?”
“You live in the dark ages,” Mike says.
Joy opens her Apace app and clicks on the News Feeds button. The new story about Mayor Weintraub appears on top as Reposted by Mike. The headline reads: The mayor admits to racism and homophobia. There is a photo of the mayor facing the camera and to his side, one step behind him, a black woman is standing. The text under the photo reads: In a shocking confession, the Mayor admitted to his deputy that he has always harbored feelings of racism and homophobia, according to reliable sources.
“Here it is,” Joy says, holding her phone up.
Looking at Joy’s phone, Dave frowns, then picks up his phone off the table and types in the Golp search engine, Mayor Weintraub Racism charges. Several entries appear, most from news sources including television news networks and local and national newspapers. Dave clicks on the link of a famous national newspaper and the referenced article opens in the corresponding app. The headline reads: Mayor Weintraub and Deputy Kingston deny allegations. Below the headline, there is a photo of Mayor Weintraub and Deputy Kingston standing side by side behind a podium, then the text reads: In a shared statement, Mayor Weintraub and Deputy Kingston deny the allegations being shared on social media painting the Mayor as racist and homophobic. Dave scans the rest of the article rather rapidly, his eyes landing on keywords that are repeated, such as false, and baseless, then on a statement by Deputy Kingston who emphasizes the ridiculousness of these allegations, quoting her words: “how can he be racist or homophobic when I was his first choice for Deputy, a black woman who has always been openly homosexual.”
Dave looks up, then turns his phone so that the screen faces away. “It’s false, a lie. Read this.”
“What’s this,” Mike says. “A newspaper?” He laughs. “Who reads newspapers anymore?”
“People looking for objective information,” Dave says.
“Nothing is objective,” Joy says.
“Agree,” Tina says. “All information is biased.”
“This information here,” Mike says, pointing at his phone. “Has been tagged and reposted by thousands of people. Must be true.”
“Not necessarily,” Dave says.
“There is no smoke without fire,” Marcy says.
“Glazed salmon?” the waitress says
“Here,” Mike says, enthusiastically.
“The delicious Mighty Crisp,” the waitress says.
Joy snaps a photo of Dave’s dish, then, looking at her phone, she crinkles her nose. “Smells delicious.”
“Wanna try some?” Dave asks.
“Sure,” Joy says, then, a moment later, “It’s actually pretty good. I should write a review.”
“Yeah, you should,” Dave says, but his voice carries a hint of sarcasm.
A brief silence follows, the clatter of glass, the grating of forks, and the soft noise of chewing, barely audible through the loud music. Then Dave picks up his phone and opens the text messaging app. He clicks on the last message from Joy and types: In a shocking announcement, Mike, Joy’s friend, while enjoying a mediocre meal at the Meaty Fish, declares that he has become a vegetarian. After a short pause, Dave presses the send button.
The chime beeps on Joy’s phone and she immediately picks up her phone and looks at the screen, frowns, then laughs.
Dave says in a whisper: “You should share the news.”
Joy highlights Dave’s message. An options menu pops up. She selects Post on Apace. A new Apace post is created. After a short pause, Joy deletes the new post and opens the text messaging app again. She highlights Dave’s message and selects Forward from the options menu, then adds several phone numbers saved in her contact list under Marcy, Tina, Mike, and Tracy, before sending.
Four notification chimes beep almost instantaneously. Brief giggles, then a loud “What?”
“Who made this shit up?” Mike says.
“Dave sent it,” Joy says defensively.
“Why would you say this about me,” Mike says. “It’s obviously not true. I’m eating Salmon, for sakes.”
“Well,” Dave says. “There’s no smoke without fire. Now three of your friends know this about you. All they have to do is send it to a few others and it will spread like wildfire, then it becomes your new truth. You better hurry up and conform.”
“Where did you find this one?” Mike says. “You think you’re a smart ass. Joy, you better delete this right away. Don’t you dare send it to anyone else.”
“Fine, I’ll delete it.” Joy highlights Dave’s message, but a new text appears below it. Send it to a few more friends. It’ll be fun. Joy stares at her phone, smiles, flits her eyes sideways, then selects Delete.
A chime beeps notifying her of a new post on Apace. She closes the text messaging app and opens the Apace app. The new post is from Mike. Joy’s new boyfriend, Dave whatever his last name is, likes to sleep with little children. She frowns, looks up, and shouts with an angry voice. “Delete it immediately. Don’t you dare share it.”
“What is it,” Dave asks.
“Nothing,” Joy says. “Delete now,” she yells again. “Now! I just deleted the text that bothered you and it was silly. This is serious stuff. You can’t post something like this.”
“Agree,” Tina says. “Like shouting bomb at the airport.”
“Or fire in a movie theater,” Marcy says.
“All of you delete,” Joy says. “Don’t you dare share it.”
“Okay,” several female voices say.
“Is this about me?” Dave asks. “What does it say?”
Joy turns her phone, and Dave’s eyes gaze at it. “That’s not cool, man.”
“Now your friends will see it,” Mike says. “And it will become your new truth. Hurry up and conform.”
“Actually, none of my friends will see it,” Dave says.
“I told you,” Tina says. “He’s a Golper, doesn’t know any Apacers.”
Joy scowls. “Really, none of your friends?”
“I meant besides you,” Dave replies very quickly. “Of course, I know you, but you already saw it.”
“Did you mean all three of your friends,” Mike says with a mocking voice.
“Dave,” Joy yells. “Stop that.”
“Actually,” Dave says calmly. “I only have two friends, neither on Apace.”
“Really?” Joy says, sounding upset.
“Sorry,” Dave says. “Besides you, I mean.”
“Mike,” Joy says loudly. “Delete it, now. I still see the post.”
“He started it,” Mike says. “He needs to apologize first.”
“Listen, man,” Dave says. “I was just teasing you, trying to make a point that not everything you read online is true.”
“If that’s the case,” Mike says. “Why does this bother you?”
“Because it’s not true,” Dave says.
“I don’t know,” Mike says. “No smoke without fire.”
“Mike,” Joy shouts. “Delete the post now.”
“Come on Mike,” Marcy says. “Just delete it.”
“This was sort of an overreaction in comparison to what I wrote,” Dave says. “Besides, I just sent one text message to a specific person. Your post can reach many more people.”
“Exactly my point,” Mike says. “The power of social media.”
“You mean,” Dave says. “The power of THE social media, since Apace gobbled up everything else and it’s the only show in town, then blocked Golp on their devices and blocked the Apace app on all Golp devices.”
“They did that because Golp bought up every other search engine,” Mike says.
“At least Golp is an open platform,” Dave says. “Information originates in different sources and can be easily vetted and verified.”
“And why exactly is this a good thing?” Mike says. “With Apace, I can limit who sees what I post and only read the posts from people I trust.”
“You will end up with a narrow view of the world,” Dave says. “You live in a bubble.”
“Oh, not true,” Tina says.
“Agree, not true,” Marcy says. “What is the truth anyway?”
“Delete the post,” Joy screamed.
“Fine,” Mike says.
A moment later, a new Apace post appears on Joy’s phone created by Mike. Rumors about Joy’s friend, Dave, are true. By his own admission. Also saw him check out a little girl. Photo to follow!!!!!
“Mike,” Joy shrieks, then stands up, leaving her phone on the table, facing down. The squeaking of chairs against the floor temporarily overshadows the conversation.
Dave looks at Joy’s phone for a moment then puts it back face down and rises to his feet.
The waitress’s voice is barely audible, restrained but loud. “You must calm down or we’ll have to call the police.”
A loud thump, then a painful yelp, more screeching of chairs, broken glass, Joy’s voice over the racket. “Delete it, now.”
“Let it be,” Dave says as he sits down. “I don’t care.”
“Well, I do,” Joy says, picking up her phone. “All my friends will read it.”
“You mean people in your little online bubble,” Dave says.
“At least we have a bubble,” Marcy says. “Where are you living? Let me guess. Alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Dave says.
“Oh, excuse me,” Tina says. “With all two of your friends.”
“No,” Dave says, holding his phone in front of him. “I live with the entire world. Unlike you guys, I can read the opinion of anyone who would like to post one, not mentioning objective information from true journalists and investigators. You guys believe any lie posted by your friends.”
“At least we have lots of friends,” Joy says
“I only care about the opinion of my friends,” Marcy says.
“These are not your friends,” Dave says
“Yes, we are,” Tina says.
“I didn’t mean you, Tina,” Dave says, his heart rate rising, sweat wetting the sides of his phone. “I mean the hundreds of connections on Apace.”
“It’s the only way to meet people,” Tina says. “I can pick and choose who to stay in touch with.”
“That’s a good point,” Joy says. “I mean, if it wasn’t for that business meeting, we wouldn’t have met. How do you even meet people?”
“Like this,” Dave says matter-of-factly, then rose and walked out of the restaurant.
At 9:47 PM, Joy scrolls through the photos that she uploaded earlier, zooming in on her face. She deletes a few and presses the small heart icon in the corner of some of them, turning it red.
A group chat arrives on Apace that includes Joy, Marcy, and Tracy, sent by Tina with a repost of a photo taken at the Meaty Fish at 9:16 PM, showing Dave and Mike standing by a table facing each other, their eyes frowning, Joy with an angry facial expression pulling on Dave’s shoulder, and Marcy with a wide smile, pushing on Mike’s chest. Joy’s heart rate rises and her hand trembles. There is a blue circle around her face with a suggestion by the face recognition software that it is her. She clicks on the circle. An options menu appears. She selects the option stating that it is not her. She then searches for posts mentioning the Meaty Fish entered this evening. Photos and videos fill the screen, several showing their fight with comments by strangers: fight at the meaty fish, friends fighting during dinner. Her heart rate rises more. She clicks on the blue circles around her face in every photo, selecting the option that it is not her. Going back to her photos, she types: Great time with friends at the Meaty Fish, and reposts them several times, a technique that will increase their visibility within her Wider Circle.
She replies to the group chat: Please, repost and like our photos as often as you can to make them more visible than the fight photos, please, circulate them with all our friends. A reply from Marcy: Done. Hopefully, they will overshadow the fight photos. Followed by several emojis expressing fear, crying, and laughter. Tina posts: Where the hell did you go? Joy responds: I’m just tired, the entire argument upset me and I wanted to go home. Her eyes flitted off the screen for a moment then returned to the phone to read Marcy’s new message: It’s not that late. Come back. We joined Mike at the bar. Having drinks now. Joy replies: I think I’ll just go to bed. Marcy posts: the way Dave stormed out. That was rude. Why did you even follow him? Joy responds: I don’t know. I thought Mike pushed it. Anyway, I couldn’t find him outside, so I came straight home.
Dave gets close to Joy and she lifts her eyes off her phone. He says: “I made us drinks.”
Joy looks at her screen, closes Apace rather swiftly, and silences her phone, placing it face down. “Thanks. What did you make?”