Last call, last night.

 Last Call, Last Night. 

The phone rings, or it doodles like a mad clarinet - a cell phone. It says it’s 11:51 pm, and it’s Axel Sundstrøm - (540) ƸƱƪ­-ƬƢƵƻ.

     I move the flashing phone icon in the center of the screen toward the green one that appears on the right. I say, “Yes?”

     “It’s Axel,” the phone says.

     “I know,” I say.

     “I’m sorry,” the phone says. “It’s late. I realize that now.”

     “It is,” I say. “But it’s okay - I’m up.”

     “What do you know about Thomas Hobbes?” the phone asks.

     “The philosopher? … Materialism,” I say.

     “What?”

     “Nothing,” I say.

     “Me neither,” the phone says.

     “Should I?” I say.

     “Not necessarily.”

     “Why?” I ask.

     “I’m writing a sermon,” the phone says.

     “Oh,” I say. It makes sense at the time.

     “Sorry to bother you,” the phone says.

     “Okay,” I answer. “Good luck.”

     “Thanks.”

The phone clicks like a candle guttering out. It reads 11:54.

04.07.18

Continued here.