Left on a dusty shelf in a dark corner of a secondhand store. A hidden treasure, ignored and neglected. I brought it home, cleaned it up, and stationed it on my desk. There it sat, silenced by smaller, faster, more mobile instruments. Still, I loved its sleek, strong presence, evoking thoughts of rainy night mysteries.
Sitting, working, when the quiet of the night was shattered by ringing. I must be hallucinating. It rings again.
I picked up the receiver…
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Annie DeMoranville 