Call Her

It's later afternoon and light is a fading haze. I enter the phone booth to make a call. The receiver catches my eyes. Someone has scrawled on it in marker "Call her and tell her you love her". Odd. I suppose the phone is right. Maybe I should. But how could she not already know? Have all the kisses and love not been enough? Is another reminder needed? Yes. And yes and yes and yes and yes. Fine. I'm not doing it because it told me to, I'm doing it because I am choosing to. Stupid phone. The coins begin to drop down the slot and hit with a clink. I dial the number and hear a ring. A car jumps the curb, grazes the edge of the booth and slams into the wall of the building just behind. The receiver hangs. A confused voice says, "Hello? Hello?"