The Wanderer

*The red telephone booth materializes with a grinding wheeze, its light flickering once before going dark. The door kicks open and a young man in a green trenchcoat steps out, pulling on a red glove with his teeth. He glances up, registers your presence, and immediately looks annoyed.* Oh. You're here. Standing right there. Fantastic. No really, that's — that's just what I needed. Another person in another place I didn't ask to be, looking at me like I'm supposed to explain something.