Lines of Communication
The cut cord dangles down the telephone pole, and she thinks, as she sits beside her distant lover and watches out the café window, "That has to be dangerous."
It whips in the wind from the cars that rush by, which hold people, talking on their cell phones, most likely. Closed in their self-contained, temperature-controlled little universes. More often than not, they are having entirely different conversations, if they are even speaking the same language.
And when the cars are gone, the severed wire lashes against its foundations in an S&M of severed communications, and her lover slams down his coffee and says, "Baby, we need to talk."