Alone, the scrap of paper sat beside the telephone.  A pen rested upon it, slanted in such a way that the scrawling writing was obscured just so.  He hadn’t noticed it before he left in the early morning such was his hurry.  Absently, with the milk still heavy in one hand, he shifted the pen aside.  You’re a goddamn fool, it said, and I love you.  (Wolves At The Door from Kut Radio Recordings)

Of David Bazan