Crap

A buhbye to Flip, my cellfone.

Had been home, barely a few days now. And after all the monotonies of ‘missed you’, i’d found faith in my feet for the first time, in over 3 months, and ventured down for football. Call it addictive compulsion, but i’d taken my cellfone (christened Flip) with me when i left the house for my trip unto the prospective bliss that football seemed to be, albeit twas only in the confines of the building with a few children for company!

My pockets resisited, and spoke indifference unto Flip, compelling me to lay it aside while we played, for fear of the rebellious pockets ejaculating my precious possession while i pranced as a child ’round the ball. Choosing a trusty spot, which had served me before too, when my pockets had refused to baby-sit my fone while i frolicked, i lay my fone down, rubbishing a timid youngster when he chose to alert me of prospective hazards of committing such an act. After all, i would be playing less than 15 feet from where my precious Flip rested, and twas a locale all too homely for thieves to visit unto their selfish ends.

So, Flip rested, and i played. Simple.

However, a continuum of bliss is often marred with inconsistency. I was moronic enough to go on a stroll with friends, while Flip lay there. In silence. In solitude. Once or twice, i thought of my fone, but then, laze, so inherent in my mettle, coupled with faith unto the safety of that spot, and my murderous belief in the goodness that humanity ought to possess, all assembled together to let me complete my commitment to the stroll before venturing back to my erstwhile possession. Erstwhile, yes, since, on my return, anticipation of a waiting fone was quickly replaced by agony of loss.

Loss of a companion, of an addiction, of whatever a classy fone could be to a boy in today’s age.