It's late. Itchy is playing with my cell phone. I'm typing. Suddenly, my room phone rings. Almost out of reflex, I pick it up. It's your friend, my axons and dendrites tell me. You're expecting his call, they say. Itchy interrupts them, pulling my hand back, putting the handset back on the phone. My mind says, It was just Itchy playing with the phone. Don't waste your cell phone minutes. Of course it's not him. Nobody in their right mind would call at this hour. The whole interchange takes about two seconds.