The Phone Rings

This evening, on my way home from work, I stopped to purchase a) the new novel by Mr. Michael Chabon (on whom I have a non-sexual crush), and b) the brand album by Ms. Leslie Feist (on whom I have a very sexual crush).

My new-found consumerism wasn't the only thing different on my way home: as I was passing by the intersection of Dupont Circle and New Hampshire Avenue, the pay phone rang. Natch, I picked up. And what followed demands transcribing.

Me: Hello?!
Mystery Lady: Who's this?
Me: I'm sorry?
ML: Do you hang out around there?
Me: No, I was just passing by.
ML: Oh. OK. Thank you.

*click*

Wow. Was this someone dialing from a future she reached via flux capacitor, vainly attempting to get ahold of the one person who could save her from a terrible fate? Or maybe just a homeless drunkard, hoping to find her buddy for Miller Time? Who knows? I think it better to preserve the mystery.