He whirred away, oblivious, persistent. Making important statement and rambling senselessly, all at once.
I hunched over my notebook, writing against the cramp in my hand.
I glanced back. I couldn't help it. It wasn't like it would turn me into a pillar of salt.
He had something to tell me.
I ignored him. Finished a page. Rubbed at the ink staining the callous on my middle finger.
I looked back. He had seven things to tell me. I bit my lip. Surely one of those things was something I wanted to hear, something I needed to know, something that would make this worthwhile.
I put down the notebook, turned toward him, and refreshed.
I smiled. "Oh twitter, you've done it again. I could never stay mad at you."