A
ringing telephone in the early a.m. is rarely the call to good news, still he
picked up in preference to retrieving any left message on the other side of
sleep.
deleted
name: Hello?
Doctor
(badly drunk): You can’t bandage ash dammit you
deleted
name: Who’s this? How did you
Doctor:
amount of money in the world can BANDAGE FUCKING ASHES
the
manic volume of this voice closed out in the careful placement of his thumb
upon the receiver, then eventually on a small pad of paper next to the
telephone:
deleted
name (writing): “Know what makes
everything better?” answering her own question for him: “Tucking in your
pyjamas.”
There
at the desk and all the way on into sleep he hoped for something more; the ink
long dry in the nib.
