Serial?

As I texted my Mom I walked to meet Hannah and Deidre. I started to cross a smaller street and realized that a red hand stood firm in front of me, I then looked to my right and saw a car careening towards me, eager to make the green light, I had just enough time to hop, skip, run to the other side of the street. "oops," I thought to myself.
After meeting them we had to update our 4th, Allie, who was still at work as to our change of plans. "I'll text her." I offered, "I can text and walk." "Oooh" they both mocked. I paused, about to tell them what had just happened to me, but decided against it- there were two more people who could watch out for cars for me now. "Adrienne," Hannah asked, "Are you a serial texter?"

We sat at dinner, well really drinks, later that night, still on the subject. Hannah was relaying her disblief when she had started dating at the prevlance of texting. "Every guy would just text me, never call. Why can't he just pick up the phone?" She had gone deep into texting as primary commnication with one, her first, serial texter. "He'd call when we were on like opposite corners of an intersection to say, 'Where are you? Okay, I'll come over.' That was it." We all shook our heads. But Hannah had learned to turn the tables, she had gone deep into texting and learned some secrets along the way.
"I started texting him first. I would write 'What are you up to?' and he'd respond, 'I'm downtown at a bar, I'll be right there.' It was completely instant. If I called, it went to voicemail and I had to wait for the text reply, but if I texted him first, bam."
All three of us had our phones next to us on the table, and when we'd pause in conversation, we'd look down at them. I was waiting for Allie to let us know she was on her way. Deidre was waiting for a call, not even a text, from a recent dated. Hannah, had just received a text and was eagerly trying to not respond too soon. She'd open her phone every once in awhile and look again, maybe for another one, maybe to will herself not to type anything in response. I'd just hit a button to make mine light up, seeing if the new message icon was displayed. We'd all read the text Hannah had gotten and approved it as sweet, interested, and not blowing her off. She was musing over what to write back. We'd help her edit it later.
I got a text back from my mom, a long one, and mid conversation with Deidre was texting her back while responding to questions, offering advice and listening. Really, I was doing it all at once. The alcohol, topic of conversation, and ease of friendship combined made it okay.
Later, I would sit on the 6 train home and think back. Texting was the theme of the night. Sure there were various topics of animated conversation, our phones were put back in our bags as we walked to the next bar, our concentrations mostly solely on those present. But still, hours had been focused on what to text back, if the person had texted yet and, "Oh, let me just read you this text I got!" Maybe we were all serial texters?