Connected

I was proud of myself.  On my first day in Vegas, I acquired an internet subscription and a local SIM card.  I was connected.

Within minutes of installing the phone, I heard the first beep.  A person who I didn't know, sent a text message which I didn't understand.  An hour or so later, another message.  I felt sorry for the sender, and replied
"U have the wrong #"
Yet the messages kept coming.  At first I was surprised.
'How can he (it felt like a 'he') not notice that the other side is not getting his messages?'
Then I became perversely curious.  He seemed like a high-school educated young man.  He recently experienced a divorce or a separation, and was eager to share his thoughts.  His mood alternated between happiness:
"I am so glad to be single"
and anger:
"I hate Gayle"
At times, the messages seemed part of a conversation:
"Let's watch the game tonight"
 At other times they were general words of wisdom:
"Some women are only interested in f###ing u, then they leave."

They were never sexually explicit, nor offensive.  However after several days of hourly beeps, I initiated a chat session with Dorothy, the phone-company support agent.
"Sorry to hear of your problem," she typed "Try to reply with the word STOP"
I was incredulous.  'I tried that twice before and it didn't work', but I followed her instructions and immediately heard the familiar beep.
"You are now unsubscribed from Twitter"
'Duh'.
My bubble burst.  I saw myself holding a fountain pen in the age of ballpoints. (Or was it a quilt?)