Small Fight
As my thoughts unfolded like a tapestry of ambition, my phone buzzed, disrupting the contemplative silence. An unknown number flashed on the screen, sparking a twinge of skepticism. Despite the uncertainty, I answered, and a voice on the other end inquired, "Hello, is this Sir Berri Masi?"
For a moment, I remained silent, grappling with the unfamiliar name until recognition dawned. It was the alias I had used to register the junkies in the drug rehabilitation center.
"Y-Yes," I uttered, rising from my chair, the worn leather creaking beneath my weight as I transitioned from the desk to the embrace of my bed.