Your hands scrabbled to reclaim your phone and scraps of dignity. “Hey, hey, hey!” you cried. “You don't just...aw, that one?” You checked the picture on the screen. “Yeah, it's great.” You shook your head. “No, I mean it's not great. Jesus, you don't go slip and sliding through a someone's pictures!”
She shrugged. “Why not? I'm a stranger, what do you care what I think?”
Your words crammed in an effort to come out. “Those are private. C'mon. And why would you care what I have on my phone? It's all personal and. Etiquette. And.” You blabbered and felt your cheeks redden.
“Should've hid them better, then.”
You gawked. “I did hide them.” You backed far out of the album, embarrassed, but relieved.
“Not good enough.” she put a handful of chips in her mouth and crunched away while you tried to explain the meaning of personal privacy. The song still played, oblivious to your confusion.
“I was just curious,” she said.
“Well, ask next time.” You stared straight ahead and put the phone away from her. “Crap.” An unprecedented indignity flurried in your stomach.
She turned towards you, bouncing her hood. “May I look at the dirty pictures on your phone?”
She looked forward again and knocked her knees together. “If I wasn't a stranger would you let me look?”
“What do you think?”
“I'm trying to get a handle on the way you think. You're being inconsistent.” She gave a look that declared you to be an irrational human.
“No, I'm being protective over what's mine,” you tried to say with some firmness, but your voice limped off in uncertainty.
“Do you want another Slim Jim? Will that help?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you so interested?”
She shrugged quick, like a bird. “Just a little bored, I guess.”