Throwing Weight

Last night, late. Household activities include deep slumber, cats sitting awake at the foot of the bed, staring at each other.

The phone rings.

You fumble to grab it. The Caller ID begins with 212. You mumble something into the receiver.

The voice on the phone is edgy and deep, ominous and somehow there with you in the reddish light of the darkened room.

“We sure do miss the old site design,” the voice is saying. “We think you miss it too.”

You’re fully awake now.

“Yes,” you say, “Absolutely. It really was much better wasn’t it.”

“We think you want to switch back,” the voice says. You hear the caller take a drag from a cigarette, the long inhale, the crisp sound of tobacco and paper, the slow exhale. You can almost smell the smoke.

“Yes, you know, I think I should switch back,” you say.


“Come to think of it, I will. I’ll switch back to the old layout first thing tomorrow. That’s what I’ll do.”


“Right, I’ll do it in a bit, in a couple of hours, you know, it’s only 2 AM and all.”


“I know — why don’t I just get up and switch it back right now!”

Dial tone.

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