Dialtone

You're drunk and you know it. Don’t even care. The scene outside the phone booth shifts in and out of focus as you dig around in your front pocket for coins. Your mobile is in your back pocket, battery long dead. Thing always gives up when you need it most. You count the coins, look for a big one and slot it into the pay phone. All around the booth there are small glossy cards featuring pictures of mostly naked women tucked in between the windows. Quite the collection really. You reach towards the number pad and realize you have no idea what number to dial. Fuck. No one knows anyone’s phone number anymore do they? The future really has turned things to shit. You sigh loudly, belch and stare up at the ceiling. Then you proceed to tell her everything you ever wanted to say as if she really were there and you listen to the steady dial tone that reassures you that everything will be ok in the morning.