Thoughts While Waiting for the Phone in Boston
HELL IS REAL
REPENT OR PERISH
I leaned against the bleak outer wall of the phone booth and traced the letters with my index finger. The crowd bustled past, oblivious to this prophecy of humanity’s impending doom.
HELL IS REAL
REPENT OR PERISH
The PERISH of “REPENT OR PERISH” was half-covered by another sticker advertising a band.
AMERICAN THIGHS. REQUEST “SKIN” ON YOUR FAVOURITE RADIO STATION.
Coins clinked into the coin slot of the phone. The voice ahead of me continued to speak in a language I couldn’t comprehend but almost understood, like maybe I had spoken it in a past life.
Someone had drawn a marijuana leaf over a sticker that read DON’T DO DRUGS. An old catchphrase ran through my brain… "Marijuana fools you into thinking reggae is the coolest music ever”.
I broke eye contact with the side of the phone booth and stared out into the oncoming stream of people walking on the grey sidewalk.
The crowd broke around a young woman, her perfect Oriental features and erethreal hair spread out around her like a thick black halo only mocked the obscene curve of her back.
She passed and the crowd closed up behind her.
HELL IS REAL
REPENT OR PERISH, the PERISH interrupted by another person’s offer of salvation...
The phone clicked into the receiver, and the man before me met my eyes before walking into the drab city sidewalk and being swallowed by the grey wave of bodies, everyone's face belonging to me.
