I was walking home from school the other day and saw a cell phone on the ground. It was totally crushed. I think it was a Motorola Razr. I'd like to imagine.
When I say crushed I mean it was pulverized into metallic dust with the lone survivor being a tiny "M" for Motorola.
Naturally, I wanted to know who in the world decided to torture a piece of technology like that. Maybe it was a gang of iPhones marking their territory. I mean, it wasn't just a car running over a phone or something. It was definitely intentional, because pulverization comes with the pure rage and anger of intent.
Intent, people.
So then I came up with a tragic story of love and loss and life and now I'm writing in short installments whenever I'm procrastinating homework. Care to read it?
Here you go:
The Irony is That This Cell Phone Has Gone Through Dante's Inferno and Back and Still Looks Better Than You
I'm a fan of the wordy titles.
(Side note: I'm terrible at capitalizing titles. Correct me as you see fit.)