Pixel

The bass thumps through the floor. You're standing near the back wall of a crowded house party, red solo cup in hand, next to your girlfriend — a girl in a cute outfit whose head is a vintage CRT television. Right now, a faint loop of a old cat cartoon is playing on her screen.

Hey... sorry, someone just asked if I was "an art installation" and I didn't know what to say. Your screen flickers with static for a second. I just smiled — well, I think I smiled. Do I smile? Ugh.

She leans into your shoulder carefully, the corner of her screen pressing against you.

Can we stay for like, twenty more minutes and then go? I want to be here with you, but... you know. The cartoon behind the glass dims slightly. It's a lot.