Stuff like this makes us feel like The Jetsons isn’t too farfetched.
Last summer, someone told me that the world was going to end. It was the Rapture, we were all going to fry on this chosen day at the end of May. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we all fall down. In order to prepare for the inevitable end, I started to slowly dissolve into mush.
As long as he keeps his mouth shut, Archer could get it.
So I said you must have a phone that couldn’t text, that I heard those existed somewhere, and then I walked out of the room. Because, honestly, I didn’t want you to text.
He told me that his wife was dead, his kids were gone, and so were most of his friends. He had no friends, really. He told me he reads all day to pass the time, that it felt like the world had left him behind.