“What happened to it?” says the Apple store clerk, turning it over in her hand, seeing no external damage. She is looking every bit the Apple Genius Bar rep—her glasses are thick and black and sexless. Hasn’t combed her hair in a week.

“Dunked in hot coffee.”

She is looking closely at it, thinking it might be salvageable.

“Sat in the coffee for several minutes,” says Zack. “Don’t even ask.”

She shrugs, reaching into the display case for a new one. “What color?” Zack points. She takes it from the case. “All your data is backed up to the Cloud?”

“Yup,” he says. His photos. His contacts. His email. His digital history. His online life. All in a suspended state in the digital ether, waiting to be reignited, summoned back down, reunited with him. With the touch of a button and the swipe of a credit card. Like he’s a computer—his plug pulled while he sat quietly and contemplatively in the dark and then he’s plugged back in, lighting up, connected, as if he’d never been gone…

“Amex, Visa, or Mastercard?”

Zack looks at the row of fancy phones. At the prices. Remembers all the heartache. Thinks about Steve.

Walking over here to the Apple store, everyone on their iPhones. Everyone living their lives on their little screens. Zack is sick of it.

She sees him hesitating. “So you want it?” asks the clerk.

Zack shakes his head. “Nah.”

Zack heads out of the Apple store, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs like he’d been holding his breath.

He strolls down the street and stops into a nameless electronics store run by immigrants.

“You sell disposable phones?”

“Yes, of course,” says the Middle Eastern salesclerk in a shiny suit, leaping up off his stool. “I bring you. You choose which you like.”

“Give me the most basic one. Just a phone and texting. That’s it.”

“No internet? No apps? No geolocation?” The salesman looks disappointed.

“Nothing. An old model. The simplest, oldest model you’ve got. I don’t want it to do anything. I want it to barely make a phone call.”

He needs it for GreenGirl to reach him. To reach Emily, since Joey Richter is free. For his parents to reach him. It’s not fair for Emily to be his secretary forever.

The salesclerk shrugs and reaches for a disposable on a bottom rack with an evident touch of disgust.

It’s an off-brand. Some Indian company. Zack can’t even find the brand name anywhere on the case. “It’s really disposable?”

“You throw in trash when battery is done. It works maybe few months. Then you come back here for new one, yes? For good customer discount.”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“When you want upgrade, you come here, yes?”