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A phone rings. A man answers.
“Hello?”
“In the time that it took you to mow your lawn today I fucked your wife,” a voice says.
“What?”
“In the time that it took you to mow your lawn today I fucked your wife.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s the man who fucked your wife,” the voice says, irritated.
“What?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“I heard you.”
“So how—
“—I’m not married,” interrupts the man.
“—I’m not married,” interrupts the man.
A pause.
“What?” asks the voice.
“I’m not married,” the man says again.
“Is this 310-422-1882?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this Roger Donnell?”
“Yes.”
“And do you live at 5843 North Gregory Ave?”
“No.”
“What?”
“I said ‘I don’t live there.’”
“You don’t?”
“I live at 5843 South Gregory Ave. Not North.”
“Oh…” says the voice.
“Yeah…”
Another pause.
“And you’re not married?”
“I’m not. You got the wrong Roger Donnell.”
“What are the odds?” the voice asks.
“Gotta be up there.”
“Yeah…” The voice coughs and asks, “Do you know the Roger Donnell who does live at 5843 Gregory Ave?”
“No. Sorry.”
The voice coughs again. “I fucked his wife, you know.”
“Yeah,” says the man. “You told me.”
Another pause.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’m gonna go, man.”
“Cool.”
“Keep livin’ the dream.”
“Done!” the voice declares.
The voice hangs up. The man goes and mows his lawn.
The voice hangs up. The man goes and mows his lawn.
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