The phone never buzzed again.
Two years ago, Leo had been that number. hate 2 story
He stared at the screen, the cheap fluorescent light of his kitchen making the words look greasy. Hate to story. Not "hate to say," or "hate to tell you." Hate to story. Like the act of storytelling itself was the nuisance. The story was the burden. The phone never buzzed again
And that was the only ending that mattered. hate 2 story