He opened a fresh tab—which felt like an act of self-betrayal—and typed: where can i buy computer glasses?
He grabbed his jacket and headed to the local at the mall. The air-conditioned hum of the store was a relief. A stylist in a sharp blazer pointed him toward a rack of "non-prescription gamers."
He rubbed his temples, the familiar dull throb of a "screen headache" setting in. "That’s it," he muttered to the empty office. "I’m becoming a gargoyle."
Leo slipped them on. The world didn't turn yellow, but it did turn soft . The harsh overhead fluorescents stopped biting. He looked in the mirror; he didn't look like a gargoyle anymore. He looked like a guy who actually had his life together.
"They take the edge off the glare," she explained, handing him a pair of .
He walked out, the mall's neon signs no longer stinging his eyes. He went back to his desk, slid on his new amber-tinted shields, and watched the cursor blink. For the first time all day, it didn't feel like a warning—it just felt like a start.
But Leo was a creature of "now." He didn't want to wait for shipping.