hunter s thomson narrating a story of mine: 

Phoneless in Toronto

I lost my iPhone at the tail end of 2024—pure chaos and a blessing in disguise. No more dopamine drips, no more endless scrolls. Just me, a busted Bic pen, and a dollar-store notebook. I wandered Toronto like a lunatic, scribbling street names and phone numbers, using Union Station payphones like it was wartime espionage.

People stared. I didn’t care. I was free—feral, even.

Then came the CAT S-22 Flip. A touchscreen brick. Android, but barely. It did what it had to: calls, texts, the occasional map if I begged it. Everything else was pain.

Tried to use it in Miami to claim VIP tickets for Rolling Loud—disaster. The phone wheezed under pressure. Security looked at me like I’d crawled out of a bunker.

Still, I survived. And for a moment, I remembered what it felt like to be human. Raw, analog, beautifully inconvenient.