I'm at the 24-hour pharmacy counter, waiting for an antibiotic the doctor says I need.
I don't really need it. I just needed to be somewhere quiet with a fluorescent hum.
Last day of the free trial for that learning app we used to do together. I let it expire this morning.
I keep thinking about the folding table in the garage. The one with the short leg we always propped with a matchbook.
You used to say it was like our table—wobbly but still standing.
I dial your number. It's been disconnected for six months.
But I imagine the voicemail you'd leave if you could. 'Hey, it's me. I'm okay.'
That's all I ever wanted to hear. That's all I still want to hear.