A generation has grown up without knowledge of true solace. Electronic boxes buzz in their ears with the voices of their friends, always available. Always. Their dramas are immediate and acute, their romances as fleeting and delicate as damselflies. Their stories are plotwise dance music; scene-to-scene, they bounce through wafer-thin dialogs...little conversations are they. What blindly heaving dinosaurs we must seem to them. We're not blind, but their sight has passed into the ultraviolet, where only insects with multi-faceted eyes can tell the flowers apart.