Conchita

“Today my phone drew her last breath” Jehan Prouvaire announced one evening, twirling the straw into their violently pink raspberry mojito.[...]“It wasn’t a completely bad thing that she died, though” Jehan mused after a while, interrupting Courfeyrac’s intense philosophical enquiry on why there was a tiny straw in his very tall martini glass.“Oh?” he raised his eyes, surprised.“If I had her on the bus today, I wouldn’t have seen this absolutely gorgeous person who sat right in front of me”.There had been more than enough mourning for the lost phone and Courfeyrac was much more interested in finding out who the mysterious stranger was.“Tell me everything”