A Dial Tone at Night

Standing on top of the payphone box, the suspended handset dangled right below my boots, humming with a continuous low buzz. I leaned over the metal edge, planted both heels firmly, and hooked my gloved fingers around the ridged plastic earpiece. Pulling it up toward me took deliberate balance. I rested the black horn against the side of the metal casing. The dial tone echoed faintly inside the glass booth, a steady, rhythmic drone in the dark. Below me, the aluminum directory shelf sat empty, and beyond the glass panels, distant streetlamps cast long shadows across the empty sidewalk. A steady spot to watch the night.