On the corner of Washington Street, just down the street from where I get off the bus in the morning was the rusted ruined shell of a phone booth standing in the corner of a Parking Lot.

The glass was gone, the coin box was gone and the metal cord that connects the receiver to the phone was gone too.

All that was left intact was a phone book that had to be about 6 years old.

One day I saw someone who looked looked like my childhood friend standing in the booth with the receiver to his ear.

 As I walked by he held it out to me and said,

” it’s for you. “

It’s not you- I thought to myself-

 I haven’t seen you in years

not since the first day of work when my code that was supposed to open all of the doors

wouldn’t work  and the Manager had to key his code in for me and  he couldn’t stop aplogizing because not only could I not get into the work area I also couldn’t get into my office  or to the room where we kept the keys for the cars or the supply room

 and

when the door to the work area swung open there was my friend

laying on the cot.

My first best friend

was the first person I embalmed.

It’s not you

I thought to myself as I walked down the street.

And the man in the booth called out to me.

” They’ll try you again later.”

A week later the phone booth was gone - the city was about to start construction on a new building across the street- and that corner was now being used for the Job Sight Shack.

The New Building is up now

The Parking lot is back

and so is the phone booth.

 I don’t walk on that side of the street anymore.

I can’t.