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I  wasn't right in the head, but no words were said except to the  secretaries, a housewife, and machines.
I  left weird messages about fake products like a kind of heating pad only different.  I spoke bad spanish. 
I was like a sad Jerky Boy but with no schedule or agenda; just depression  and sometime pity sex from an ugly girlfriend.
Finally I hit a low point, heard my own fallible  voice.
Talked for an hour to a too young housewife  about Lyme and pick lines; about broken down cars, lost jobs, and suicide.
We  talked  in an interview style and my stomach filled with bile; it came to an end and she broke through my line with a question of her own.  
She asked me my name to define the call as real  and I gave her a fake name and hung up  the phone.

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