Chrome - Favorites

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. 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.

Delete.

Then, he ordered a large pepperoni from Mario’s. Some favorites, he decided, were worth keeping, even if they just made him hungry.

Arthur looked at the empty chair across the table. He looked back at the screen, at the gleaming, unforgiving chrome frame around his life. favorites chrome

It had been fourteen months since Gina left.

Every night, he clicked through them. The furniture store still had the 1970s armchair. The knife was still out of stock. The moss hadn’t grown much. Tonight, however, the chrome of his browser felt colder

A small pop-up asked, Are you sure?