Return to Sender


  The phone goes straight to voicemail. This is Heather, wait for the beep!
Heather, it’s Flyyn,” I say, “Foster Flynn, look, they know, okay? Call me back.”
  I put my cell on the table and lean back in my chair, scrutinizing the patterns on the ceiling. Waiting. I peel a Clementine in fractional increments, hoping that by the time I finish she will have returned the call. It’s six hours and twenty one minutes later when she finally does. I’m still here, Clementine long digested.
  “Don’t speak,” she commands, a long shot from the upbeat answerphone, “let’s go to work.”

~ by Joseph Blame on June 22, 2011.

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