The tuneless ballad of the Man Alone

contralens

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He sits alone in a dark room.

Hitting the refresh button on gmail, waiting for new mails to come in.

Ever since gmail separated the promo mails and spam, the inbox aches for fresh mail.

He keeps looking at the phone that never rings, picks it up, puts it back, and picks it up again.

Going through the call list for any missed call he might’ve missed.

There’s none.

Then he moves on to the contact list.

Should he call that old colleague of his who seemed happy to meet him last month and asked him to keep in touch?

Why didn’t he answer the phone when he called back in a few days?

Casper wouldn’t mind getting a call, but then what can you discuss with a middle-aged man who’s just lost his job?

Middle-aged or old?

When does a middle-aged man turn old, anyway?

Who cares.

All the…

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