I know that if you want to publish something, you don’t post it on a public website. I never had any illusions that this piece would be published anywhere; it's too short, and isn't really a story, exactly, but it's finished. It's got no place to go from here (at least not as far as I can see), so I'm presenting it to you.
I wrote this in my Writer’s Group back on May 23rd. We were working off a prompt, but I was distracted by a barrage of artificial sounds spilling into our writing area from out on the street. I wrote three pieces that day: One, a brief exposition on cell phones and ring tones in general; this one here; and a third involving a teacher who was out of touch with his students. That last one has promise, though I don't know where to go with it, and I haven't really looked at it since I wrote it. This piece has changed very little since it flew out of my head that afternoon. I hope you enjoy it.
Ominous music poured out of Richie’s pants.
Dun dun dun, DA duh-dun, Da duh-DUN.
“Crap,” he said, reaching for his pocket. “It’s the wife.”
I laughed. “You use Darth Vader’s theme song as your wife’s ringtone?”
Richie’s hand paused halfway to his ear. He said, without a trace of humor, “If you lived with her you’d know why.”
He flipped open the phone, plastered a phony smile on his face, and injected saccharine into his voice. “Hey, honey, how are you?”
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