The Celly


My Samsung phone’s soul is probably writhing in boredom, but is probably used to it.

I hardly grab it, except when I can no longer fight my ear’s craving for music.  It’s playlist has it all: Eminem and Linkin Park for my mad days; Gabrielle Aplin and Sarah Bareilles for my girly gush; or The Glitch Mob for coloring my mundane hour with beats and horrible cussing.

I seldom need calls or text messages.  My current model isn’t geared with many apps (hint: the celly ain’t went pass the Galaxies).  But it’s sufficient and believes it.

My Samsung phone’s soul writhes in boredom, but it swiftly passes.

***

Soulful Machines 

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