Before I Count To Three (Cellphone Novel) [HIATUS]

Chapter 4

The last bus had come and gone.

The last. Of the night.

Why was I out so late? A question I wanted to ask myself, more than anyone else.

Inside the stuffy telephone booth, the air sees to solidify in my face.

My nose feels funny. 

Dust tickles my senses.

I pull out my wallet and ruffle through cards and old receipts.

Thin paper records of stuff I've done.

Records of deeds that will never see the light of day.

Again. 

And fish out my telephone card.