I answer the phone, but no one is there. I check for messages. There’s one—from Nic. His voice is cocky, slurred. “OK, OK . . . sorry. Jesus, this is really hard. Sorry. I’m stopping. But part of crashing out, or whatever, and trying to get focused for work . . . I’ve had to sleep a lot ’cause my body ain’t that happy with me. I slept through Friday . . . waking up on Saturday, not realizing I’d missed a whole day. So in regards to the rest, I don’t know. I’m confused.” Then nothing.
