I couldn’t understand the man on the phone.
“What did you say? There’s too much noise in the background,” I said.
“Is this better?” he asked.
“No, now I hear a screaming child. Are you on the street?”
“In the market, on aisle 7.”
“What’s aisle 7?”
“Bed pans, medicine, and cotton balls,” he said.
“They cater to all needs,” he said.
“Well, in that case I need something for my lower back, my toes, and my right arm. It all hurts,” I said. Then I realized I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Alf, your husband. Remember me? You sent me to the store.”
“You’re in the wrong store, I need you in a pharmacy,” I said.
“This is the pharmacy. Do you think I would find spinach and papaya here?”
“Yes, in aisle 8,” I said.