by J.P Jackson
*
Taylor walked through the still busy streets, noticing smiles and laughter as if for the first time.
"Donald," he said, tapping a finger against his temple.
A slideshow of old photographs appeared in Taylor's holo-lens as the call attempted to connect. The pictures were of Donald and Ham as kids in Scotland or young adults in America. "You have reached the home of Donald and Sylvia Taylor," returned the answering machine. "Leave a message and we'll get back to you."
"Bollocks! Donald I know it's late but call me as soon as possible. I got something to do then I'm headed directly to yours. Send a cab or something mate, I don't have a credit to my name. Call me brother!"
Taylor tapped a finger to his temple and hurried his pace. He had one last stop before the end of world.
