The battery for Glen's phone ran out in 1997 and he never recharged it. No matter, it continued to serve its purpose.
The phone was a psychological marvel, if a technological waste. It was a defence, a force field, an emotional moat. Not once did he leave the house without it jammed against his ear. He considered rigging up a hook like those seen on some earpieces but decided there was too great a risk that it would be noticed and dispell the illusion.
He'd never realised that he needed such a buffer until he had it, and then being without it became unthinkable. With it meaningful communication could be prevented, and meaningless communication likewise.
In the fourteen years they'd been together he'd developed callouses on both hands. In fact after the first eight months his left hand became so blistered that he'd had to ask his doctor for some ointment. That was a thoroughly unpleasant experience. Since then he'd employed a strict rotation policy.
The technique was an unqualified success nontheless. Had he been of that disposition he would have marketed the idea. Of course, clearly he wasn't.
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