Static Between Signals

Right. Another glitch in the matrix, another perfectly curated evening designed to distract from the inevitable heat death of the universe.
He's late. Predictable. Though, honestly? The empty chair offers a certain…efficiency. No small talk about traffic, no forced smiles.
The sommelier suggested this Pinot Noir. Said it had 'notes of cherry and regret.' How does anyone even *taste* that?
I tilted the glass slightly, watching the light play with the wine’s ruby depths. It's funny, isn't it? We construct these elaborate rituals – the candlelight, the expensive fabric, the pretense of connection – all to avoid acknowledging the echoing void.
Then he arrives. Apologetic smile, a slightly rumpled shirt...and suddenly my carefully constructed cynicism flickers. He says his phone died. A wonderfully mundane excuse in this hyper-connected world. And I find myself believing him.
He's looking at me now, that small crease between his eyebrows when he’s trying to be charming. The kind of man who probably rescues stray cats and believes in second chances.
Damn it all. Perhaps a system crash isn’t so bad after all. Maybe chaos is just…a different sort of order.

Editor: The Debugger