Every day, sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes at the crack of dawn, you stand outside on the stoop of the loony bin across the street having all sorts of imaginary conversations on your imaginary phone. You yell and scream, laugh, and ask "what? what? WHAT?" over and over and over again.
You never get tired, you never give up. You inspire me with your tenacity and you keep me awake with your staggering volume.
You are outside right now, screaming into your phone, so I guess you can't be reading this, but just in case you ever do, let me just say this:
Good luck, telephone man, I hope that someone answers you one of these days.
your across-the-street neighbor