Since he didn’t, he just blows on the hot mug of coffee he holds in his hands and tries to ignore the sound. Here it isn’t even ten in the morning, and the temperature is already starting to climb. It’ll be another humid day, too hot for this time of the year, and he simply doesn’t have the strength to go in and pick up the damn phone. Let the machine get it. There’s nothing he wants to say to anyone right about now.
On the fourth ring, he hears his own voice as the answering machine picks up. “What’s up, yo?”
God. How long ago had he recorded thatmessage? He doesn’t remember, but he hasn’t heard his own laughter in a while and it startles him to hear it now, ghostlike in the empty house. He’d forgotten about the answering machine, too. He’ll have to change that tape.