SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 11: Calling

By Patrick Cabello Hansel

This time, Angel did not vacillate. He walked south, past Waite House, the Islamic Center, the airplane graveyard. At the Greenway, he paused for a moment to look down. The plows had not come yet, but intrepid cyclists had carved little paths in the snow. From his point of view, they looked like chromosomes stretching themselves out. Angel wondered if the genes we receive from our ancestors and pass on to our descendants stretch and contract with the joys and trials of history: marriages, wars, miracles known to many and those known only to a few.

As Mr. Bussey had told him, the little store on Lake had phone cards. Dozens of them, some with outlines of countries, cartoons, women in bikinis, the lucha libre hero his younger brother David idolized. He ended up buying one with dancing and singing hot peppers. He remembered where the last pay phone in the neighborhood was: incongruously off an alley on a side street. The aluminum shell was dented in two places, someone had written, “I love you, Katrina. VERY LOVE!” with a dark red marker, but the phone worked.

Unfortunately, the city plow had thrown up a wall of broken ice and snow, so that to face the phone, Angel had to climb the little hill and actually stretch down to reach the numbers.… Read the rest “SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 11: Calling”