by Daniel Soule…

The red door swung shut behind him. Out of habit, he slid two fingers into the change slot, checking for unwanted coins. But no one used telephone boxes much anymore and in a few more years they would pass out of memory like so many things, like so many people. His other hand curled around the receiver, lifting it to his ear, to answer the call that must be answered.

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Daniel Soule was an academic, but the sentences proved too long and the words too obscure. Although Northern Ireland is where he now lives, he was born in England and raised in Byron’s home town, which the bard hated but Dan does not. Find out more about Daniel at LinkedIn.com.