Today I was on the phone with a friend for twenty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds. I know this because when I hang up my phone immediately tells me how long I talked for. I guess this is supposed to be some kind of helpful feature, so you can keep track of how many of your alloted minutes you’re using. This never worries me, though, because we have approximately four hojillion minutes in the bank. As it is, it’s just another annoyance that makes me feel like my life’s being measured out and apportioned.
At the end of my twenty-or-so minute phone call, I realized that the house had gotten deadly quiet. Like the absence of people. That feeling you get when you come home and the stove’s cold and the house is stuffy and there’s a note on the table that says, “We went to the beach! (Fuck you!)”
“I should wrap this up,” I said. “My house is too quiet.”
“Uh-oh,” my friend said. “You better go find out what Strudel’s up to.”