Friday, January 30, 2009

Pivot Chair's Phone Call

As Pivot Chair walked down 14th Street, he sensed something odd. Something was reaching to him, something was vibrating in the gray morning air. He peeked around the corner to see if someone was standing there, waiting. But the street was empty. A receiver hung down from a pay phone. Underneath the dangling receiver was a quarter. 

"I'm a fucking fool," thought Pivot Chair, as he knelt down to pick up the coin. The coin moved. He reached further. The coin moved again. Someone was pulling a string. He nodded to himself. Someone always is. 

Old as he was, Pivot wasn't nimble, but he wasn't slow either. He grabbed the phone receiver. He spoke into it.

"God. Pivot here. If this is really you, make it move to the left."

Pivot waited. And waited. And looked at the coin. It inched to the left. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. Pivot Chair nodded. He got off of his left knee with some difficulty, dusted himself off, and went on his way. He left the coin behind. For today, he knew he had been blessed.

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