Bobby Z cursed under his breath as he entered the telephone box. The chipped red door swung shut behind him but couldn’t keep the cold night air out, hardly surprising since there wasn’t a single pane of glass in the six windows that made up the payphone door. There weren’t any in the six windows to his left either but miraculously two had survived on his right. They were fighting a losing battle however and Bobby’s breath plumed around him as he picked up the receiver.
It was bad enough that just about every phone box on the estate was smashed but this one was on the main road leading into town. If there was a posh side to Woodend council estate this was it even though most of the residents pretended their postcode said Apperley Bridge, a nearby and more respectable neighbourhood. A car drove past, blasting cold air into the kiosk. Bobby pulled his collar up and glanced across the green. It was late so there was nobody about, just the occasional motorist and two dogs sniffing each other. Bobby smiled at the joke his brother told him last week about Indians naming their kids after whatever they saw outside the tepee. “Two Dogs Shagging,” wasn’t going to be a solicitor when he grew up that was for sure.