Arthur looked at the empty chair across the table. He looked back at the screen, at the gleaming, unforgiving chrome frame around his life.
He clicked Cancel.
He never changed his browser’s bookmarks bar. Nestled between “News” and “Finance” was a folder labeled simply “G.” Inside were eighteen links. A vintage furniture store in Portland she’d wanted to visit. The webpage for a ridiculously expensive Japanese chef’s knife. A blog about restoring moss gardens. A live cam of a beach in Cornwall they’d watched one rainy Tuesday, pretending they could hear the waves. favorites chrome
A small pop-up asked, Are you sure?
Arthur’s fingers moved on autopilot. Click the blue compass star, type "M," and hit enter. The familiar teal and white page loaded, listing the daily specials of Mario’s Pizzeria. Arthur looked at the empty chair across the table
Delete.
Tonight, however, the chrome of his browser felt colder. The bookmarks bar, usually a reassuring row of familiar icons, looked like a graveyard. He hovered over the “G” folder. The little downward arrow blinked, teasing him. He never changed his browser’s bookmarks bar
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