“Here’s the thing. You can’t be doing this. You’re 38 years old. You’re a compulsive liar. You have cavernous molars. And you’re already being tailed by the police.”
I thought, this message probably killed its messenger, strung out on finding its way home.
CALL ME BACK, the wall of the defaced bathroom stall said.
She was walking through a quaint neighborhood of old Victorians and Craftsman houses and a few run-down ranches when she saw a note on the front door of one of them.