It’s a bright morning in Santa Carla. You gently spin the dial of your telephone, each number making a click as the dial moves back into place. You hold the phone up to your ear, messing with the cord in your other hand and staring out the window as the wind moves the trees. A dial-up noise can be heard, then shifting. Michael answers the phone.

“..Mmmhello? Michael speaking.”

His tone of voice is soft and sweet. He must be tired. You mess around with the cord more.