Transcript
Sanathrapathi (0:00)
If you thought goldenly breaded McDonald's chicken.
Avery (0:03)
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Mint Mobile Advertiser (0:15)
Mint is still $15 a month for premium wireless. And if you haven't made the switch yet, here are 15 reasons why you should. One, it's $15 a month. Two, seriously, it's $15 a month. Three, no big contracts. Four, I use it. Five, my mom uses it. Are you playing me off? That's what's happening, right? Okay, give it a try.
Sanathrapathi (0:35)
@Mintmobile.Com Switch upfront payment of $45 per three month plan. $15 per month equivalent required. New customer offer first three months only, then full price plan options available, taxes and fees extra.
Charlotte Williams (0:44)
See mintmobile.com hello, you've reached Sinanrapathy. If you have a message for me, please leave it here. If you have a message for Mayor Campbell and you're hoping to get there through his girlfriend. Nice try, buddy. Unless it's really an emergency, and then.
Sanathrapathi (0:58)
I'll see what I can do.
Charlotte Williams (1:04)
Captain's log. I can't call it that. It feels like I'm wearing your shoes or sitting in your chair. I am sitting in your chair. Knowing you'd be fine with that doesn't change it. I had a call with Julio, and he said to write a note to Sanaa. Everything I'd want to say, even if, you know, I maybe laughed in his face and called him a fraud. I wasn't mad, though. He just got this real calm tone of voice. Might have been smug, actually. And here I goddamn am. Julio, therapy slinging bastard. I've been replaying everything I can find with your voice on it. Not even to pretend you're okay. Just trying to remember how it felt to be around you, in the same room. And of course I miss you. I miss you so mu. But honestly, I miss me too. The person I could be around you. I miss being able to say really dark shit, the darkest shit on my mind, and hearing you answer back with some kind of cheesy inspirational quote. Thing is. I'm sorry about that. I'm really sorry. I expected you to do that, to be that person all the time. I was the dour one and you were the happy one. And it wasn't fair. It's like a. Like a fungus. I can't make hope from sunlight. I have to wait for someone else to do it and then lean in and grab it from them. And you. You didn't leave on purpose. I know you didn't. And you didn't leave because of me. I know this isn't. I swear. I know this makes no goddamn sense, and I want that to mean I don't feel it, but I really, really goddamn do. That maybe if I'd been able to pick myself up a little more, I wouldn't need to play your outgoing message to hear you. And I know. I think that's bullshit, right? I think it's bullshit. But, damn, do I wish you were here to tell me. And damn if it isn't the exact same problem as always. Sometimes I feel like I can't love anyone without taking something from them. Hug them with one hand, rifle through their pockets with the other. And you'd say that's not fair to me. But I just. Everyone left in San Ramos is consumed by the work, and I'm me. And we all have our shit. And I can't shake the feeling that you didn't have anybody to. That you didn't have a Sanhtrapathi. And I'm sorry.
