Drops

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We took hurried turns on the payphone in the communal hallway, our chit-chat punctuated with drips from the leaky bath upstairs.

I don’t remember who it was that pestered me to get off the damn phone or what it was I muttered under my breath as I hung up and walked away.

But I can still hear the sound behind me, loud as an explosion, and the chair smashed under the weight of all that plaster, all those drops of water, all that time.

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