RIP my phone

# A Noir Farewell to a Faithful Device They say everyone's got an expiration date written in the stars, and my phone finally got the message. Found it cold and dark on the nightstand this morning—screen black as a widow's veil, battery drained like a stool pigeon's last confession. Natural causes, the coroner would call it. I call it a double-cross by Father Time himself. This device had been riding with me through thick and thin, a loyal partner in a world of digital deceit, and then one day it just... quit. No warning. No farewell note. Just silence, the kind that echoes louder than a gunshot in an empty warehouse.