A span of hours

Over a span of hours, I watch you sitting on the bench tucked under the stairs.  The world moves on, passing by, milling around, and you, lost in the rabbit hole of your phone, mindless of the life that surrounds you.  If you looked up, you would see humanity in all its shapes and sizes, the family that poses in front of the neon installation, the woman and her daughters who stand beneath the giant graphic of sushi, this you would see, and more.  First, though, you would have to break the draw of that small device that pulls you further and further away from us.