[...] I tapped the messages tab and saw it was open to his conversation with me, trying to arrange a time and place to meet. Since we both had iPhones, like everyone else, to send texts we used the app that comes with the phone, iMessage, in which the phone owner’s text bubbles are bright blue and the correspondent’s are light gray. Seeing our conversation in reverse, the one in which I remembered participating hours before, was jarring. The flair I’d thought I’d infused into my punctuation choices was gone; I was only identifiable because I knew the facts of the exchange, that I too had suggested to Felix that we meet at eight thirty at the dark bar with the fireplace so I would have time to get a slice of pizza beforehand. My name at the top of the message history did not seem like my name; it was as if I were only one of hundreds of people that another person might virtually engage with at any given time, and whatever I’d said or not said was no different from what anyone else would have.