Takeout

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

A busy signal.

He slammed down the receiver, picked it up, dialed another number. Voicemail.

He listened into his cell. ‘Hello? Hello!?’ He heard muffled coughing.

He searched the junk drawer, tossed the takeout menus aside, found his mother’s address book, called his old neighbor’s numbers at random. No answers.

‘Hold on!’ he yelled into the cell. And then, ‘Why the hell did you move?’ to himself.

He paused, thought, dialed.

‘Takeout or delivery?’

‘Do you have a cell phone?’

‘What?’

‘I’m Ron. I’m on the phone with my father. I think he had a heart attack. He lives at 204 South Main. Please call 911. Just say what I say.’