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responsible. But writing – I’ve always got my writing. It’s the only time I can be honest.” “You clackety-clack on that typewriter everything you done wrong with your life?” “Everything is self-inflicted. I make no bones about that. But this newspaper strike, left me with no income. If I could just make a little, I could dig my way out of this pit.” “Maybe it’s the best thing happened to you.” “What?” “Rot set in long before you noticed it.” “You don’t know me.” “What’s to know? You’ll never change. You’re where you belong, now.” “Get out of here.” He picked up the notebook. It fell open to Christine’s photo. He ran his tongue on the inside of his lips. “What’s this number here?” he asked. “It’s her number.” “Why don’t you call it?” “She doesn’t know me anymore. Probably wouldn’t even recognize me.” “Can’t you make yourself recognizable?” I ripped the notebook from his hand. I pushed him out of reception. I shut the door. He slouched off, dragging his right leg like it were dead wood. I gripped the notebook tight. My shattered right forearm burned. The healing process was slow as glacial movement. The bone knitted together in painfully perceptible increments. I opened the notebook to the photograph of Christine. I traced a finger around the digits of her telephone number. I glanced at the payphone. I put the notebook in my pocket. On my fourth night at the desk I studied the Racing Form. Every horse I had picked came in a winner. I grew tired of the game. I stuffed the Racing Form in the garbage receptacle. I watched for the old man. Time trickled away. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t write. I opened my notebook and studied the photo of Christine. The photo, notebook and typewriter: the sole remnants of my previous life. At the end of this shift, come nine o’clock, I’d have fifty bucks. I’d be ahead for the first time in weeks. I traced the digits of Christine’s telephone number with my finger. I went to the payphone and deposited a nickel. The call connected. No one spoke. The line hummed. “Who is this?” the man asked.

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Profile for Structo Magazine

Structo issue 10  

Our tenth issue features—by accident, honestly—ten short stories, ten poems, two interviews (author Evie Wyld and poet/translator/author/edi...

Structo issue 10  

Our tenth issue features—by accident, honestly—ten short stories, ten poems, two interviews (author Evie Wyld and poet/translator/author/edi...

Profile for structo
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