I press the call button. It took a lot of effort for this small action. A lot of convincing myself. A lot of delicate analysis of the various possible consequences, of this small action. The sound of the first ring reaches my ears through the cellular device, and I close my eyes as a familiar feeling of dread slowly grips me. What will I say to you, if you decide to take this call? What do I have to share that may interest you, or at least make you curious enough to not hang up immediately? I imagine you sitting in your chair, sipping your tea. And your phone flashes my name on its screen. I imagine the expression on your face, and I already regret the decision of calling. But there’s no turning back now, because missed calls are just cheap. I simply cannot let you think that I’m cheap. Uninteresting, maybe, but not cheap. I remember how it used to upset me when you wouldn’t take my calls. I laugh to myself at how, now, I don’t want you to pick u...