Harry B. SanderfordDeath by broken heart has become so commonplace that the accumulating corpses of the unrequited are now nearly as ordinary and invisible as the homeless. Busy bluetoothed brigades of moving, shaking, go-getters kick ass, take names and absently text URGENT missives while merely stepping over and around the weak of heart. Recreational shoppers deftly steer overfull baskets in the direction of much, much, more with only a peripheral perception of the heaped up hopeless for whom the motto "shop till you drop" was just never enough. In the know hipsters have figured a clever loophole that allows them to hate the game and the players by only having sex with people they can't stand while listening to separate IPods. Survival of the fittest focuses a blind eye on a guarded heart and this too is evolution. Cobalt splashes on aftershave and cranks up Roxy Music's Love Is The Drug on his antique stereo, knowing full well the risk but unable to staunch the flow of cartoon hearts that stream embarrassingly from his head in Gina 3.7's presence.