… But I’m not in control of a single f*****g thing anymore.
“Smile like you mean it / Oh, no, oh, no, no, no”
— “Smile Like You Mean It” by The Killers
Two mornings later, I’m at my desk pretending to read a zoning filing from the Newark site and retaining absolutely none of it. My phone sits next to my keyboard, silent as Elena Lazareva’s grave.
I keep waiting, but nothing comes in. I’m not sure what I expected. Text? Call? Signal message? If not that, then what about a cryptic emoji, a threatening endearment, a handwritten Hello, little fox appearing on my bedside table?
But I’ve gotten none of that. Ever since whatever we’re agreeing to call (or better yet, not call) the impromptu web-cam show I performed on Wednesday night, it’s been dead air and radio silence.
Did I do something
