grasping his head with coarse fingers and a damp palm, he reached over with the remaining hand to answer the unwieldy beige telephone, exhaling into the receiver “hell…o?”
“what happened to you last night?”
“what? who the…?”
and then nothing, a click and the dial tone. slowly, he sat up, removing his hand from his forehead. the phone, cradled in the heavy covers of the blanket began crying with a heavy electronic pulse.
(for english)
currently spinning: grandaddy: so you'll aim toward the sky