Answering machine

Crowley holds a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand and, sitting on the windowsill, looks out at the street from the window of his dark apartment. The demon no longer remembers how long he sat like that-maybe three hours, maybe more. If he wanted to, he could sit there forever, but he didn't see the point. He was looking at a busy street where hundreds of strangers were constantly heading somewhere, cars were driving, and everyone was in a hurry somewhere. Crowley thought that each of these mortals had their own affairs, dreams, desires, their own love and hate, and their whole short life was a huge story for those they would leave behind. And so on again, until one day, on the last of the descendants, this story will not be interrupted. After all, nothing lasts forever, even if it seems so until the last moment. The man smiled sadly. The whole city seemed to him as if permeated by the light of distant lanterns and headlights, creating a contrast with his gloomy room.And at this moment of easily felt silence and loneliness, Crowley got up from the windowsill, threw back his head and drained the bottle in a couple of sips, after which he threw it into the wall with a flourish, and several dozen pieces scattered around the room, falling to the floor in hundreds of others. The man walked up to the table, picked up the phone and, holding the receiver to his ear, dialed the number he remembered many years ago. There were beeps, one, two, three, five, and he heard the painfully familiar voice again. - Hello, you have called the bookstore "Aziraphale and Company". Unfortunately, I can't answer you at the moment, but if you need to, you can leave a message after the beep. There was a distinctive squeak, and Crowley spoke. - Hi, angel. How are you? You know, I've been drinking again today. It seems that alcohol has already filled my veins, but this is the only thing that distracts me from sad thoughts about you. I am truly sorry that things turned out this way during our last meeting. I'm not asking you to forgive me, I just want you not to be mad at me. I haven't held a grudge against you for a long time, but I still think you did the wrong thing by going to heaven. Why did you leave me, Aziraphale. I've always loved you. I've loved you for the six thousand years that we've known each other. In the end, everything was so good, even when everything was going through one place. I miss you, angel. I hope that one day we will meet again. Goodbye, Aziraphale. I'll call you tomorrow. Crowley's eyes glaze over and a bitter tear rolls down his cheek.He hangs up the phone, holding his hand on it for a moment. The voice of the answering machine recorded by his angel is all that brightens up his every evening.