When My Phone Dies
On disappearing.
I hate how unmoored it makes me feel. The screen flickers off and I’m left with a useless brick in my hand. What did I do without it? Got lost. Stared into space. Noticed more things.
I worried you would worry about me commuting home in the rain. I stopped at H-Mart, I said, just before my battery died. My last known location: browsing in the snack aisle.
Outside, the church bells rang for the hour. Nine o’clock. The only thing to do was wait. I saw a bucket nearly full to the brim with dirty water dripping from the ceiling of the train platform. If I could’ve, I would’ve sent, How much do I have to pay you to drink it?
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