A worried husband calls his wife, late at night, and things take a surprising turn.
The fetid odour of uneaten pizza lingers in the stale, silent air as the sun slinks slowly over the skyline. The room turns dark for all except the defiant, flicking television in the corner. I swipe a fingertip across my phone, bathing my desk in pale light. ‘No messages. 9 o’clock. ’ My fingers drum irritably on the armrest. It’s maddening, yet I can’t stop the relentless torture...Read On