***You walk into my office. Itâ€™s dark, but you can see my outline through the gloom. Iâ€™m sitting with my back to you, the slatted blinds casting thin slivers of moonlight over me. My face is lost to shadow. A cigarette smoulders in the ashtray on my desk next to a tumbler of some brown liquor. You say my name and I turn my head. I bring a bottle to my lips and laugh a bitter, gurgling laugh. I ask you what you want. You tell me you want to know what really happened, that summer day in Yosemite. I turn sour, I tell you to get out of my office. I stand up out of my seat and slam the bottle down on the table, spilling liquor over a stack of old newspaper cuttings. Get out, I tell you, but you stand firm. You whisper a name. I pause. I pick up the cigarette and draw it deep into my lungs.
â€śSamsung S3 Mini?â€ť I murmur, as the smoke curls out of my mouth and the embers reflect in my eyes. â€śI havenâ€™t heard that name in yearsâ€¦â€ť*** Continue reading