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A SHARP WHINE
Slices through the buzz
in my ears. What? Who?
Oh, yeah. Leah. Right.
She’s looking at me like
I’ve missed something very
important. So is that okay?
Freight train slam. “Uh …
Sorry. What did you say?”
Repeat, then go away.
I said I want to give you
my number, she says, only
a lot annoyed at my inattention.
What I want is to track
down the bastard-maker.
“Um … I’m not sure …”
I know you probably won’t
ever use it. But just in case.
Or you can give me yours.
“No, no.” The last thing
I need is her calling me.
“Give me yours.” I fumble
around in my pocket, finally
fish out my cell phone. Try
to punch in the numbers
she recites. But my mind
is in a whole other place
and I miss one or three.
Here. Let me do it, okay?
She extricates the phone from
