Sitting in the hair chair, Freja happily listened to the message that Arizona had recorded and uploaded to her custom orange ipod Touch. Arizona’s message was mostly about, “warm naked bodies sliding across each other with careful, trembling strokes,” but there was a small section on Arizona’s opinion of the Lil Wayne CD Freja made her listen to. “Wait, so what does the ‘F’ stand for? Wayne seems indecisive about it,” Arizona’s message questioned, then abruptly stopped.
Freja looked down at her ipod touch. The battery was dead.
“No. No. No,” Freja repeated as her hair was being fixed.
She needed to hear Arizona’s voice.
She required Arizona’s voice.
With no other options and no charger, Freja put the dead ipod touch up her her ear and stared blankly off into space, waiting for a voice that would never arrive.
