Where have all the payphones gone?

With Charles in Raleigh and now handy customer about at quitting time I decided to walk home. Takes about an hour. Too far along to want to go back a sharp pain hit one of my feet. Too guilty of all the rides I’ve gotten off him I decide to not call Yance, I’ll call for a taxi.

I haven’t used a payphone since they cost a dime. But I know where many of them are. Or where they used to be. They’ve been uprooted. No surprise, payphones tend to cause poor people to congregate. Most markedly junkies wanting to cut a deal. I thought about putting a payphone in the bookshop’s parking lot. The panhandling winos and junkies who congregated about a nearby Eckerd’s dissuaded me.

First payphone I find has been rendered unusable, you can’t shove coins in. I keep on wincing and trudging. None at the Fast Fare, the ones at Burger King are gone. I figure I’ll go over to Northgate Mall. The traffic lights change but the orange palm never changes, not even a flicker: DON’T WALK. In my confused searching about I find a button hidden behind a bush. Well, damn, I have to push that button if I want to get across one of Durham’s busiest streets.

Not much later the little green man flashes up. The orange palm returns before I’m across. I’m tall, have a long stride. Reminds me of the elderly woman I saw panic on another street because when it appeared before she made it to the white dashed line.

Inside a Harris-Teeter I call ‘Durham’s Best Cab’. While I’m waiting a woman asks for a cigarette. Quickly given. Shortly she’s back asking for 80¢: she tells me she needs money for bread and soda. The precision of the request lets me know she’s probably looking for a can of Colt 45. I apologize having given my change to the payphone. A half-minute later I give her a dollar bill. I’d had one of my literal-minded responses. I didn’t have the change. If she needs malt liquor to get through her day why shouldn’t I help? Long ago in Atlanta there was a dyke wino I always felt it an honor to help towards her day’s comfort. It is shabby and ugly. But there’s no reason to condemn someone whose only dignity and pleasure is in alcohol to a sober Hell.

My cab came and soon I was back at the shanty. The phone was ringing and it was my beloved Charles. We had a good long talk, sometimes serious, other times tender. He’s hungry to be home. Maybe more than I’m to have him here. Not that my days will be complete without him. But the kind man he’s staying with cooked him a steak when I’d’ve been at work.

Wish I could think of something warm and sweet for he homecoming.