It still held.

My phone sat on the armrest.

It hadn’t rung in two days.

I picked up the magnet and held it in my palm.

It was just a cheap thing, a souvenir from a trip to Florida in 2009.

Gary had bought it at a gas station because I said I liked pineapples.

He had laughed and said it was a waste of two dollars, and I had said it made me happy.

I set the magnet back down on the metal table and lined up its edge with the slats.