A day that resists definition, that ends only when you hand the phone over to the person beside you. It's late and you realize you're hungry. Then suddenly you know there was one more thing to say but you've already handed it over. For a moment you realize that unless you press it firmly closed your thoughts will flap in the warm wind. Until then, the person on the other end will follow you in the wrong direction. What you said will never be what you meant, an imperfect urban plan. Some day in the past, the entire conversation would have taken place in letters. You would have pressed firmly closed what you never said. The person beside you hangs up.
You're always so busy I don't want to interrupt you. I took it as encouragement that you even wanted to talk. This is calling it a day.