Shovel Ready

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My name is Spademan. I’m a garbageman.

—this fucker.

I don’t care.

Don’t you want—

Just a name.

I have his address.

Great.

See this fucker—

I said don’t.

Okay.

The less I know, etcetera.

How much?

What I said. To the account I mentioned.

And how will I—

You won’t hear from me again.

But how do I—

The dead guy. That’s how.

I don’t want to know your reasons. If he owes you or he beat you or she swindled you or he got the promotion you wanted or you want to fuck his wife or she fucked your man or you bumped into each other on the subway and he didn’t say sorry. I don’t care. I’m not your Father Confessor.

Think of me more like a bullet.

Just point.

—best friends. At least that’s what I thought. Then it turns out she’s fucking him.

Please, ma’am. I will disconnect. And this number doesn’t work twice.

Wait. Is this safe?

Which part?

Aren’t they listening?

Of course.

So?

Doesn’t matter.

Why not?

Picture America.

Okay.

Now picture all the phone calls in all the cities in America.

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