No shit? You think I’m a retard? Is that what you think? —Give me someone else there, will ya? —Why? he says again, and we hear him pull the phone away from his mouth again and there’s a crowd around him, jabbering away, oohs and ahhs, and then we hear the phone drop, and he says something about a freakball, and something else faint and whispery, and then he’s shouting as the phone swings around, and the voices get caught in the wind. —Anyone want to talk to this fruitcake? He thinks he’s calling from California! —José! Just pass the phone, man, will you? McCa_9781400063734_4p_03_r1.w.qxp 4/13/09 2:34 PM Page 185 L E T T H E G R E A T W O R L D S P I N 185 The phone must be swinging in the air but it’s getting slower, the voices steady, and behind them, some sirens, someone shouting now about hot dogs, and I can see it in my mind’s eye, they’re all down there, milling about, and the taxis are stopped and the necks are craned upwards and José is letting the phone swing at his knees.
