My celphone rings, maybe for five seconds. Dreary, I pick it up. Then, it is silent.
I re-dial the number. It is a hotel in Santa Monica. Maybe one of my friends is hurt or alone or in trouble. I go through the list, asking the bellhop each name, but he says, “No” to them all.
Okay, I go back to sleep.
Ten minutes later, the phone rings again. I pick it up in time.
“Hello?”
“Um,” a male voice, high and hesitant voice asks, “is Angel there?”
I pause. “Yeah,” I say.
“Um,” he says, “can I speak to her?”
“No,” I tell him.
“Um,” he says, “why?”
“Because I have my dick in her mouth,” I tell him. Then, I hang up.
I go back to sleep.