Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Actually, not.

Flashdrive Cellphone sat quietly at his workstation. He was thinking about something. Something important.

The telephone rang. It was loud, and sudden as always, but Flashdrive wasn't startled. Nothing startled Flashdrive Cellphone. Still, this was an important phonecall, and Flashdrive had been expecting it at exactly this moment: Four thirty-one PM, on May the 9th of the year 2007 in the Year of our Lord. He had been expecting this call for three days, since he'd read that letter.

The letter.

That day, the day it all started, was a rainy day, hot, the kind of day where no one goes out with an umbrella, but everyone goes out with a funny feeling, a feeling like something is going to happen, something they don't expect. What happens is that it rains, suddenly, and you're stuck at a bus stop in some god-forsaken town without an umbrella, saying to the poor bum next to you, "Jeez, who'da thought it was gonna rain today, huh?"

Flashdrive Cellphone had just left a meeting at some dive on K-Street, a late lunch with- well, with me, actually. My name is Notebook P. Teacup. I'm going to tell you what happened on that hot, rainy Monday. And, I'm going to tell you why I wrote that letter.

5 comments:

  1. Terrible, actually, not~~~

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  2. This is unfathomably mysterious. What did the letter say?

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  3. suddenly, andrew checked his site, checked it only to see that someone had asked a question, a question that, seemingly, only he could answer.

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  4. Suddenly, Michael checked Andrew's site to see if the question had been answered. The question that, seemingly, only Andrew could answer. The question burned in Michael's mind like a lamplight in the distant fog, which was slowly going out.

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