“You’ve got more than eighteen thousand unread notifications on this thing,” he said.

“Are you sure you don’t want your photo gallery backed up to the cloud?”

“Wipe the internal storage,” I said.

“I want a clean phone with a local area code.”

He took a small metal pin from his shirt pocket, popped the SIM tray out of the side of the frame, and dropped the tiny plastic card into a recycling bin under the counter.

“The old number is shut off as of this second,” he said.