Facing north, by the viaduct “Would you like to leave a message for her on our trunk-line?” “No, really. But then, Sorry do you mind if I do?” “Clearly,” setting the handset in front of me. “Its John. We had a drink in the bar here and I thought I'd catch you. Anyway its late and I'm heading back. Maybe you're there instead.” I hand Dot Dot Dot the handset leaving him to his Mah-pong. Tonight had given me the same messianic taste for shovels and spoons that poets held for flowers and swoon. I was bewitched, indented, and underscored by some strange green eyes. “Clearly…” The lobby’s stuffed with furniture like a mouth full with aching teeth. It smells sharp and loose in here when the door whistles open. Flattened cans rattle where the door kick plate was. Then the whole mess slaps shut again, then again behind me. Shielding a match with my open hand I light a cigarette. The tar, the acid rich chemicals, I inhale them and they burn just right exactly. I exhale. O