22
Jack's living room window looked out on an overcast sky that loomed menacingly over the buildings across the street, threatening rain but never delivering. It had been like that for several days now. Constant gloom.
The transparent image of Anna sat on his couch with her hands folded in her lap, projected by the disk of his multi-tool that sat on the nearby armrest. “So tell me about this date with Marie.”
Grinning into his own lap, Jack shook his head. “You know, you don't have to call me every day,” he said, sinking into the couch cushions. “I appreciate the company, but it must be a hassle.”
She studied him for a moment, squinting in confusion. “Of course I have to call you,” she said. “You think I'm gonna let you recover from burned hands without at least providing you with some
