chicago_payphone bijou he's standing there at the payphone, with a plastic card in his hand. i assume it's one of those pre-paid minutes arrangements. he looks the way he always looks. eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl green eyes glistening underneath lips parted slightly to show two brown freckles on his mouth he shifts his weight to his left leg and winces as he remembers not to use that leg for awhile the black receiver is pressed hard against his ear with his shoulder as he leans on the phone with one hand and dials with the other so many numbers he leans back and looks up and down the street. cars line the curb as far as we can see and the sun reflects eagerly off the windows of the tall buildings we are surrounded by the line is ringing and ringing. he pulls his jacket closer to himself as remembers me squatting next to the brick building behind him. i pull my knees up to my chin as he flicks his cigarette into the street. "what time is it there? at home?" i am cold and tired. soon we will be back in the van, to the next city. they are all starting to look the same. "it's the same time as it is here, love." we're still in the midwest. she's not home. or she won't answer. sometimes i wish he would just cry. 010926 ... farmfish nice. 010926 ... . . 010926 ... did i remember to keep your beer as full as mine i'm dying tomorrow in this house this street, chicago i'm dying tomorrow did i did i do it right 010926 what's it to you? who go blather from