It’s another Monday morning. You’re greeted by your favourite emotions: regret for a weekend ill-spent, heartbreak at being wrenched from blissful slumber, and dismay at another thankless week stretched out before you. So begins the undressing: * You remove your eye-mask from your face. * You remove your earplugs from your ears. * You remove your phone from your mouth. This isn’t the first time you’ve found it in there, with no memory of having inserted it the night before. It all started that one morning when you suddenly needed to bolt for the bus after fiddling with your phone, and, unable to put it away in time, you placed it in your mouth, screen downward. It was only inside for a second, but the taste…! As soon as you’d hopped on the bus, you’d removed, wiped it down, and pocketed it, your tongue burning. You thought, at the time, that this was the taste of months of finger smears. But, no - it was the taste of pure data. A taste you’ve begun to crave. Less