"That was when I checked my phone. It was a small flip phone that I sometimes forgot about for days on end. It was always dropping calls. I had bought it from the back door of a bodega on Graham and Conselyea along with a packet of calling cards that gave you pretty modest minutes unless you were calling Yemen, in which case your time lasted forever. I had four new messages, all from unknown callers. I sat down on the stoop of a brownstone to listen to them. They were all made from that same rock from the same quarries in Pennsylvania, the stuff that looked like it could survive any kind of calamity, natural or man-made, legal or otherwise. The neighborhood was full of them and that was part of its charm, that illusion of stability."
~~ from An Honest Living by Dwyer Murphy
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