' Henry turned in his seat. Gone,all gone now. s like a voice from a Walkman when the batteries were fresh and the volume was turned all the way up to ten. Only two things still seem real: the heavy black receiver of the pay phone, and the heat.
He can have a Percocet if he asks, and he probably will ask, because being out in the cold hurts him. A brilliant call. Tired and fading. Got mail for you, Henry.
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