Voice on the Machine
The sky was spitting rain as Mitch ascended the half flight of stairs that led to the door of his apartment. As he fished his keys out of his pocket, he mused to himself about the drabness of his life. What did he really do with himself? he got up every morning, went to work, did his eight, came home, went to bed, and started the whole thing over again the next day. Maybe he’d go out to eat on occasion, but that was the extent of things. He considered it a great night if it happened to be a...