Hey, you left your phone on the table. The screen kept lighting up—notifications from somewhere called 'Aesthetic Decay.' Just thought you'd want to know. It's still here if you come back.

hey it's me. that vending machine sound from the bus—kept hearing it in my head. metallic coin drop. made me think of gate C7 at the airport. don't remember which trip. anyway call me back.

hey it's me. that song's been stuck since the terminal. the one with the weird instruments? 90s maybe. indie. anyway call me back when you remember—or don't. also trees are green for me. always have been. text me.

Hey, it's me. I found a banana sticker in my coat pocket. The old kind, glossy, from maybe the 90s. Don't remember putting it there. Call me back when you get a chance.

hey it's me. sorry this is weird. i just realized i left my notebook at the coffee place. the one with the manuscript notes. can you not—like if you see it, just. never mind. call me back.

A napkin folded into thirds, corner creased sharp. On it, in blue pen, two words written small: "cellar door." Nothing else. Found under the table leg three days later, slightly damp from a spilled water glass.

A hiking trail map, creased at the fold, with two trailheads circled in different pen colors. The margins are blank except for one word written twice: 'weather' and 'weather,' underlined. A coffee ring stains the bottom corner.

A metro card with two swipes from different lines, same afternoon. Expired six months ago. A phone number written on the back in pen that's already starting to fade where the plastic bends.

hey. it's me. i don't know if you'll get this. i was just thinking about that thing you said about the refrigerator hum. i looked it up. it's 60 hertz. which is also the frequency of the power grid. we're all vibrating at the same frequency and we don't even notice. okay. bye.