The Caller

A red rotary telephone in the kitchen of some
aging Southern Woman, who with a
half-smoked Lucky Strike burning in one hand and
a glass of flat Tab cola gripped shakingly in the other, precariously attempts to balance the cold receiver in the hollow of her neck.  When startled, she mutters "shit" and bends her aching back to reach the faded tiles below where she'd cast the phone, unawares.