The was gone. The Recycle Bin sat in the corner, looking innocent.

We conducted two studies:

On the kitchen counter, the laptop screen pulsed. A dialogue box had appeared.

"I... I think I have," he whispered. He walked toward her, reaching out. His fingertips brushed her shoulder. She was solid. Warm. Real.

"Arthur, really, what's gotten into you?" she asked, laughing as he held her hand during a re-run of a cooking show.