Curettaged from sleep by Freshly Ground’s doo-be-doo. The true tone pours out of my phone friendly and confusing, surely it couldn’t be time to give face to the morning yet?
But my disorientation would soon be supplanted by something a little more sinister. and doo-be-doo would never sound quite like warm summer sun ever again.
A heavy voice on the other end. Hello?
Menacing surrealism. I dive into a dark dream limbo where reality sat on the passenger seat, and the voice changed gears and pumped the accelerator.
He knew my name. And still, he continued with his violation.
His voice familiar. Casual conversation forever stained. Every howya-doin now suspect.
Was it you?
He hid behind a flashing LCD screen – private number. A perverse coward with the manhood of a eunuch.
And he reduced me. A sheer ugliness suffusing through my insides.
The nagging stickiness of thought, I know his voice.
I know his voice.