and I finished my beer.
One of the two fresh-out-of-college kids up in New York called me a penis-head when he thought the phone line was muted. I remembered thinking how
formal he’d been, choosing ‘penis’ rather than just saying dickhead, while his friend
whispered in panic, “Shit. Is it muted? It’s not on mute.”
I sat a thousand miles away, still in my pajamas, my breakfast in front of me,
and counted out the beats of silence that followed. At eight I took a sip of orange juice.
I got to twelve before they spoke again. “Roger? You still there?”
“I’m here,” I said, voice pleasant. “So…did you guys review my ideas for refactoring your code?”
They’d always wonder if the line really had been muted after all. I’d always
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