I stare at the phone from its place on the other side of the couch. It sat there ever since I had retrieved the mail a few hours ago. All I wanted to do was find the owner, but when I had opened the screen to find a contact list, it was already loaded on something that I could only describe as a weather screen and I barely touched it when the snow starting fluttering from the sky. In July. In Arizona. I promptly waltzed into the house, threw the phone onto the couch, and sat on the other side to watch it, drinking my way through a six-pack.
I have to pee, badly. I’m compelled, however, to leave the phone in my sight and at the same time I don’t want to get near it. The bathroom was on the other side of the room, right in the phone’s view.