Graffiti art

The phone rang on the other end and I scowled. He wouldn’t answer the phone, now would he? Ring, ring, ring. Scowl. Ring, ring, ring. Sigh and roll my eyes.

But it did answer.

“Hello, Jerry?” I said into the text-happy, e-mail-dinging, contacts-out-the-wazoo, neurotic-social-avoidance-excuse smartphone.

Nothing. And then I heard “Hello … Ben?” come right back to me.

“Jerry? You’re breaking up.”

“Ben, are you there? I can’t hear you.”

I hung up and called again. Ring, ring, ring – scowl. Ring, ring, ring –

“Ben, don’t call me at 8:30 in the morning. That’s shower, shit, and shave time.”

“Oh, Jerry.” What would I do with my hopelessly neurotic best friend? “How’s the love of your life?”

“Mom is fine. How’s yours?” Jerry said and giggled in that ticklish sort of way.

“I called because Connie wants to know about your love life. It’s all he lives for,” I said, thinking about Conrad’s penchant for picking up tricks along the Tenderloin. The slut I married ...

There came Jerry’s perky giggle again. Odd, when we were together, I wanted to strangle him when he giggled like that. So I giggled right back when he told me, “No action. Nothing since the Napa Narcissist.”

“You and me,” I said. “Two sides of the same coin. You had the Napa Narcissist. I’ve got the Tenderloin Tessie.”