I get on the B train at 14th Street and sit down across from a young man and woman both immersed in their smartphones. I don’t have a book with me, and for most of the trip back to Brooklyn I stare absently at my surroundings, including these two. At some point over the Manhattan Bridge I start to wonder whether they are in fact a couple – I realize I have no reason to assume they are; that is, they have not once looked up from their phones or so much as given the slightest indication of being aware of each other’s presence. And yet: they look as though they ‘belong’ together, which I realize is a kind of vague assertion based on nothing more than a similarity in dress and personal style that hints at membership in a common subculture. I place a sort of wager in my head, and wait for the rest of the ride to see whether or not my inkling is right. Finally, arriving at my stop – the two of them still haven’t looked up from their phones – I get up. They get up too, and I see, just as I start to turn away, the way the man touches the woman’s shoulder as they prepare to exit the train.