You Don't Want Your Boyfriend Calling You

If fatima were to sift through your data channels leading up to that night, she'd understand that the break-up was a long time coming. By late august, you were doneo just hadn't told him yet. The night was humid, hot, rich with the threat of storms, but you went out anyway. There was a huge park a few blocks your house, built around a series of wooded ravines and gullies that flattened themselves into picnic grounds in the lower elevations. You left your phone at home, in part because you didn't want to risk getting it wet if it did rain, but more because you didn’t want to be reachable