August. The town empties even the seagulls are on vacation. Sunday. Facebook is awash with complaints. the vanity of screenlife obscures what's missing. a curious lack of cameraderie. Better to write a poem in solitary in acknowledgement of this peculiar setting A substitute for conversation with a friend That's what it boils down to This virtual life every need unfulfilled Except the need for attention Constant Insatiable Where did everybody go?