Every improvement in communication makes the bore more terrible.

Host: The rain poured down like a thousand unanswered messages against the glass walls of the café. The neon reflections from the street painted slow, restless streaks across the tabletops, as if the night itself were scrolling through its own endless feed.

A television screen hung silently above the bar, flickering between news anchors, advertisements, and talk shows that no one watched but no one could turn off. The hum of Wi-Fi routers, the buzz of phones vibrating in pockets — it all wove into a low, omnipresent symphony of connection.

Jack sat by the window, his grey eyes fixed on his phone screen, thumb scrolling with mechanical precision. Jeeny, across from him, stirred her coffee without drinking it, her brown eyes tracing the rain outside instead of the world within.

The moment hung heavy — filled, yet empty.

Jeeny: “Frank Moore Colby once said, ‘Every improvement in communication makes the bore more terrible.’ Do you ever think about that?”

Jack: without looking up “You mean, do I think about how technology made idiots louder? Every day.”

Jeeny: “That’s not what he meant.”

Jack: “Isn’t it? We gave everyone a megaphone and forgot to give them something worth saying.”

Host: The blue glow of Jack’s phone lit his face, carving out shadows that made him look both younger and older. Jeeny watched him — not with judgment, but with quiet sorrow. The rain outside blurred the city lights, turning everything into a kind of digital dreamscape.

Jeeny: “It’s not about intelligence, Jack. It’s about emptiness. We have more ways to talk — and less to say. Everyone’s speaking, but no one’s really listening.”

Jack: sets his phone down, smirks “That’s poetic. But communication isn’t the problem. It’s the people. You can’t blame the microphone for what the singer sounds like.”

Jeeny: “No, but you can question why everyone needs to sing at once.”

Jack: “Because silence terrifies them.”

Host: A flash of lightning split the sky. For a brief moment, both their reflections vanished in the glass, replaced by the city’s restless glow — screens stacked within screens, conversations looping into themselves.

Jeeny: “Do you remember when letters meant something? When waiting for a reply was part of the emotion?”

Jack: leans back “Yeah, and people died before they got answers. Progress isn’t sentimental, Jeeny. It’s efficient.”

Jeeny: “Efficient, yes. But not intimate. Every improvement in communication has stripped away the patience that made words human. Now we reply before we even think.”

Jack: “That’s evolution. Thought has to keep up with transmission.”

Jeeny: softly “And what if it can’t?”

Host: The air between them thickened, pulsing with quiet tension. The café door opened and closed, letting in a brief gust of wet wind and the smell of asphalt and cheap perfume. Somewhere behind them, a coffee grinder screamed like static.

Jack: “You make it sound like the world’s lost its soul because people text too much.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about texting. It’s about noise. We’ve mistaken constant contact for connection. The bore Colby warned about isn’t the fool — it’s the endless chatter that drowns meaning.”

Jack: “Meaning’s overrated. Half of what people said in the past was nonsense too — it just took longer to send.”

Jeeny: “But the delay made you think. Made you care.”

Jack: “You romanticize waiting. Nobody misses slow pain.”

Jeeny: leans forward, her voice trembling “You’re wrong. We miss anticipation. We miss depth. We miss the ache that made love letters sacred and conversations worth remembering.”

Host: Her voice cracked slightly at the edge of truth. Jack’s eyes softened, but his mouth stayed guarded. He reached for his coffee, then set it down untouched. The steam curled, faint and vanishing, like words lost in noise.

Jack: “Maybe the bore isn’t worse now — just louder. The same people existed in every age; now they just have Wi-Fi.”

Jeeny: “But don’t you see? Before, boredom was private. Now it’s contagious.”

Jack: chuckles “That’s good. You should tweet that.”

Jeeny: shakes her head “Exactly my point.”

Host: The rain tapped faster, as though trying to outpace their words. A delivery drone buzzed briefly above the café’s awning, its red light blinking like a distant heartbeat. Technology — efficient, obedient, soulless — moved on, even as they argued beneath it.

Jeeny: “You ever go a day without your phone, Jack?”

Jack: “Once. Thought I’d found peace. Then I realized everyone else had moved on without me.”

Jeeny: “Maybe peace means missing out.”

Jack: “Or maybe missing out means being forgotten.”

Jeeny: “By whom?”

Jack: after a pause “Everyone.”

Host: The silence that followed was sharper than any argument. Outside, the world flickered — screens in every window, glowing faces lit by the promise of connection and the curse of it too.

Jeeny looked at Jack — really looked — and saw in his eyes not arrogance, but exhaustion. The kind that comes from too much signal, not enough silence.

Jeeny: “Colby was right. Every new way we invent to connect just exposes how far apart we really are. The bore isn’t terrible because they talk — they’re terrible because they never stop.”

Jack: “And what do you want me to do? Turn it all off? Walk into the woods with a notebook and a quill?”

Jeeny: half-smiles “Maybe. Or at least learn to listen again.”

Jack: “To what?”

Jeeny: “The quiet.”

Host: The rain slowed, turning from chaos to drizzle. The café’s lights dimmed slightly as the barista wiped the counter, humming a song that no one knew. For a moment, even the world outside seemed to hold its breath.

Jack: softly “You know what’s funny? All this technology — the networks, the apps, the feeds — it was supposed to bring us closer. But the closer we get, the more invisible we feel.”

Jeeny: “That’s because connection without intimacy is just data.”

Jack: “And maybe intimacy’s obsolete.”

Jeeny: “Then why do you look so lonely?”

Host: The question hung in the air, quiet but devastating. Jack looked up, finally meeting her gaze. The reflections of phone screens in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something raw, unfiltered — presence.

Jack: sighs “You think there’s still hope for us? For this generation of hyperlinked ghosts?”

Jeeny: “Hope doesn’t need bandwidth, Jack. Just attention.”

Jack: “And you still believe we can find that?”

Jeeny: nods slowly “Not in the noise. But maybe in moments like this — when the world blurs, and two people actually look at each other.”

Host: The rain stopped. The glass window, still streaked and shimmering, reflected their faces side by side — weary, flawed, alive.

The television above them went dark for the first time that night, the café’s hum fading into something that felt almost sacred.

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Maybe communication isn’t about improving how we talk… but remembering how to mean what we say.”

Jack: quietly “And maybe silence is the best kind of message.”

Host: A bus rumbled past, its headlights cutting through the thinning mist. The city stirred, endless and awake, but inside the café, something had slowed — the heartbeat of noise replaced by the stillness of understanding.

Jack picked up his phone, stared at it, then turned it face down.

Jeeny reached for her coffee, still cold, and took a sip anyway.

The rainwater on the window caught the first flicker of dawn — a pale light that didn’t announce progress, but peace.

And for a moment, in that fragile silence, they both remembered what it felt like to truly communicate.