Being a music player is hard. You got to content yourself to a life of fringe abuse, being tossed from side to side and stuffed to smelly pockets like it's nobody's business. Sometimes, you'll need to throw away your smooth, matte screen so loved with the ladies in the stores for a more oily, gross and glistening coat.

When's the last time I got a good bath, with water, a cloth, and maybe some soap in it? When was the last time I got reunited with my masseuse from the Microfiber Agency? I don't think I've got one. Was it even covered in my benefits package?

I probably smell like sweat. And dead skin. Gross.

How am I going to get the ladies like this?

I mean, I got myself a degree in music in Silicon Valley! Coming from my grassroots in Foxconn, that's a huge achievement! Not many of us get to that stage. Sometimes, we're thrown away, due to something. I don't know.

I nearly got dumped too, you know? Some kind of dent on my skin, a little imperfection. You wouldn't even notice it, unless you look at me real close at the right lighting.

It doesn't even matter. You see, I got even more battle scars.

There's this little minute scratch over here, in the corner of the screen. Feel that little raised part of the screen? You don't just get that with a regular edge. You get that with a human nail.

Oh! And there's that little "tattoo" thing at the back. It's all rough and stuff. Edgy, you know? I remember the day I got that. She put me in her pocket, with all her keys and stuff. And man, oh man, they loved scratching my back. They just hit all the right places.

I guess they got a little carried away?

There are all these little accidents all around me, like some immortal rash that grows and grows with every passing day. Sometimes, this oily sheen just feels like it's there forever.

I'm honestly conflicted about these things. Sometimes I wish she just treated me better, not like some doll that can be thrown all around.

Okay, maybe those guys over at Nokia can survive that. I remember meeting a 3310 somewhere over the years.

They say that he survived a ten-foot drop.

How come I can't do that?

I've seen some of the newer generation, with their fancy new touchscreens and reverse cameras.

Some of them don't even have buttons! The audacity of them...the nerve!

How they stand to look at themselves in the day, I wonder. They don't have definition!

Who knows, maybe it's just because of me. I'm an old timer. Music for music, that's what our teacher taught me in Cali. Only that.

I've lived that mantra up with pride.

And even though I've been through the toughest things the world has thrown at me, the smile that she gives me every time she plugs in her headphone jack into me makes it worthwhile.

After all, she chose me, an ornery artifact of long gone days over the new flashy boys. She trusts me to hold her music instead of the flashier models.

I'm proud of that.

And also, she gave me a new case.

Ooh, how the ladies down at Samsung would swoon over this classy black matte!