Henry’s cell phone rings late on a February night. He sets down his wineglass, a stemless burgundy sphere, and pauses the stereo system pumping almost imperceptible eurosynth along the walls of his minimalist apartment. He presses a button on the Bluetooth headset he was already wearing. At midnight.
You know that muffled gibberish sound they use on TV shows to indicate that someone is talking on the other end of a phone line? Insert that here.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”