As soon as he walked in the phone booth, he felt a peculiar tension. Something was was amiss. But he couldn't figure out what.
He brushed the water droplets off his coat and his hair. He hated being caught in the rain. He should have brought his umbrella with him. Oh well, the rain would probably subside in a while.
He suddenly felt as if he was being watched. He couldn't shake off the feeling that there was a pair of eyes, hidden somewhere in the booth, staring at him and scrutinizing his every move.
He shook his head. He was being overly paranoid. Why would anyone spy on a simple man like him? He was a thirty-three year old man with a bachelor's degree in economics, working as a clerk in a private firm that dealt with real estate. He had nothing to hide. He lived alone in a small apartment and lead a rather boring life, working from eight in the morning to five in the evening. He spent his nights watching television shows on his computer and his weekends drinking with his colleagues at the local pub.
It was not the life he wanted but that was what he had. He had always wanted to be a writer. His father had pressured him into studying economics because it had more job prospects. He had gotten a job and was doing fairly well and he was thankful to his dad for that. But there was no denying his life empty and monotonous.
Anyone spying on him would simply be wasting their time.
He shook his head again. Yes, he was definitely being paranoid.
He looked at his watch. It was six in the evening. It was still raining outside the phone booth. He found the constant pattering sound of the rain on the asphalt to be quite soothing. Even at home, before sleeping, he would play the sound of rain on his computer at a low volume. It calmed him, relaxed his mind.
Something in his coat pocket beeped.
It was his mobile. It's battery was dying. He had to get home soon and recharge it. Of course, that's why he was in the phone booth. He had to call someone. His wife, who must be worried sick at home.
He fished his pants for some change. Picking up the receiver, he inserted the coins he found in his pocket into the slots at the side and dialled the number.
"Sorry, the number you've dialled is out of service."
He put the receiver back down. He remembered he had forgotten to pay his telephone bills.
His mobile beeped again.
It was a message from home by his daughter.
'Dad, where are you? Mum is worried sick. Also, the neighbour's dog has destroyed our yard completely - again. I'm going to report it to the animal control. By the way, uncle called. He's coming over to visit tomorrow.
P.S. Please bring home some cake.'
He cussed. That dog - he hated that dog. Every week, the dog would jump over their fence and dig in their yard, destroy flower pots and poop everywhere. He'd talked to his neighbour many times to no avail. Well, no more. He'd chew his neighbour out today.
The telephone rang.
He picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Hello? This is me, Ronald."
"Oh hey boss. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Just called to remind you that you're coming over for dinner tomorrow."
"Oh, yes. Don't worry about it. I told Cathleen, she's excited to meet you."
"Well I'm sure our wives will get along fairly well. Also, do bring along that draft of yours. I'm sure this one be a best-seller as well."
"Will do boss."
"Okay then. See you tomorrow. Bye."
"Bye boss. Have a goodnight." He hung up the phone.
He grabbed his umbrella, took a deep breath and stepped outside the phone booth. He smiled. He felt happy. He had a lovely wife and a lovely daughter. He was doing fairly well as a writer, having four best-sellers to his name. His boss was a wonderful man too. Not everyone had a lenient boss like he did.
He started walking away, umbrella open in one hand and a box of cake in another. His daughter would love it.
The rain continued falling around him.
He paused and turned around. Something was amiss. But he couldn't figure out what. He stared at the empty ground before him for a moment before shrugging and walking away.
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.