He dropped dollar after dollar into a pay phone tonight. Dead end phone calls to the south, placed outside assorted convenience markets. The connections appear to be lost. Perhaps just forgotten. Summer asylum arrangements still have to wait. As he walked away from the phone and considered the potential company, the delay suddenly seemed wise.
She sat on the lake shore, feeling the sun on her arms and the first true hot damp humidity of pending summer. On the run from Atlanta, but staying ever in The South. Summer asylum arrangements seemed successfully dodged. She contemplated sleep under the loblolly pine. Tomorrow, the road would lead through Birmingham.