Watch Check Compulsive Ass

This ass cannot go nine seconds without consulting their wrist, and it is starting to affect the neck. Mid-conversation, mid-stride, mid-sentence, the eyes drop, the wrist rises, the pace is checked, the heart rate is confirmed, and the ritual quietly resets. They are not running so much as officiating a nonstop ceremony in honor of a small glowing screen. The posture is permanent now, a gentle downward tilt of pure devotion. They have checked the watch so many times this mile that they could not tell you a single thing about the scenery, the weather, or the person who has been talking to them since the trailhead.