12:06am

Your voice is cold, but yet it still warms my inside.

You say hello and I wish I would die this very moment. You ask why I've called and I stammer, and finally conclude that I don't really know. It's late, and you lament, your voice husky from sleep. I know it is; why I called? No idea, no bloody idea at all. A machine creaks, and the gears grown... Another jam?

12:10am. I still hear the click of the receiver, and your voice turns to ice. Goodnight.