Fifteen years ago, "no bars" meant "dry town."
The outgoing calls would ring once or twice and then silence and then beep.
She noticed the rain was strangely arrhythmic, bouncing off of brick and car hoods and gutters. The toothy scowl of a homeless man reminded her of the oak trees in winter, and his skin of the dried up riverbed in the summers back home.
Finally, an answer.
"Oh God! I'm so glad you're home! I hope you can hear me, it's raining pretty hard, I just needed to tell y-"
Beep.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment