I was sitting on the bench outside the shop this morning, waiting for the delivery truck, and I heard two young men arguing about something on their phones — politics, money, I don't know. Their voices were sharp, like they were trying to win instead of understand. Later a woman came in for olive oil and we talked about her son's school fees, about whether the bakery would raise prices again, about whether her cousin in the village was still alive. That is the conversation that matters. The park talk, the internet talk — it passes like wind. The talk in the shop, the talk over coffee at someone's house, the talk where you see the other person's face and remember they are tired too — that is where people actually live.