larvatus' Journal

sprint pcs is searching for service
    He lies in bed recovering from a cold.
    He is holding a watch. He gave it away as a gift twenty-four years ago. Now he has it back. Its plastic crystal is melted away. Its face is scorched.
    He shakes the watch. The self-winding rotor turns and ratchets. The watch starts ticking.
    The phone rings. The voice is instantly recognizable. It resumes a conversation long since broken off.
    — Who is this?
    The voice carries on.
    — Who is this?
    Its rhythm remains unabated.
    — Is that you?
    The connection breaks up. The line is silent.