affordable bankruptcy.

His gaze had not left the screen for over an hour. The phone was slick in his hands, covered in smudges of sweat.
“I should’ve used the Blueberry Explosion filter instead of Nuclear Solution. Dammit,” he said.
She drew herself closer to him on the sofa. They both hadn’t eaten in a day.
“I wonder how the Americans felt when they realised that the Mexicans realised only a year after the war had ended that they, the Mexicans, had been cheated out of all the gold in Alta California,” she said.
His thumb was swiping up so fast on his phone that his brain failed to register any of the images popping up.
“Yuyoblo17 has picked up twenty-fucking-thousand likes in the past five hours!” he said, his eyes bleary.
She said, “Who was the most important, do you think? Euclid or Pythagoras?”
He took a sip of water from his bottle and said, “More. More important. I need to charge my earbuds. Silence is killing me.”
She made an attempt to get up from the sofa but could not find a solid thing to grab onto and gave up after a few tries.
“I once wrote an essay on an author who was sometimes referred to as the Chekhov of the suburbs. And now I have no clue who he was. That’s all I remember about him. Chekhov of the suburbs. No book title, nothing about what he wrote. He or she. I guess he. Chekhov. Guy. Right?”
He looked up from his phone and regarded her for a few seconds. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head head as if to say So?
He said, “Can you pass me the charger? My phone’s dying.”