I haven’t seen my friend, Hary Burger, in over eight months, and even then we only met on one occasion in which we spoke of fast food and and Islamic philosophy.
I have stopped wondering why Mr. Hary Burger texts me — of all people — sentiments of worry or curiosity, and now accept him as a sort of etherial personality entirely separate from reality. It is enough that he represents an idea of someone who, despite being wholly removed from my life, is still willing to express care whether I choose to respond or not.
Somewhere in this city my Guardian Angel is flipping mediocre meat patties by the street, and I don’t need to see him again to know he gives a damn about whether or not I sleep well each night.
Latest text messages from Hary Burger:
Goodnight Julie. I have phone credit.
Miss Julie, how are you?
Your daily activity…Sure, very busy…Good luck.
Miss Julie…Please your correction. “She’s always up to date on fashion.” Is this sentence correct? True or false.
Good night…Happy sleep.
An earthquake just happened. Miss Julie…be careful, please! God always protect yourself.
Miss Julie, at my place there happened…a hurricane…your place?
Maybe, it’s good if you stay in your home…Thanks…Hary
Good night Miss Julie… Hary wants to ask if Wrestling-WWE-Smack Down, seriously happens or is it just film? Thank your answer.
Miss Julie…I’m sorry, if you confused about my question…Never mind.
Always success especially for you.