oneiromancy
Half of New York City was under construction. Not a vast area but every other building was sheltered by scaffolding and wrapped in dark green canvas. While crossing the street I was handed a telephone. The coiled cord stretched without seeming to end or strain against the handset. No one was talking on the phone, no dialtone, just silence. People on crosswalks were ducking and weaving to avoid being clotheslined by the wire. When I put the phone down on the ground it slowly skittered away gaining momentum the further it went from me.

I found myself in a dark, dank hallway. The urge to buy a cellphone overwhelmed me as I traversed the corridor which became brighter the further I ventured into the building. Once it was bright enough to see without stopping, concentrating and squinting I noticed there were doors and people began appearing. A few familiar faces from work were seen but they hurried into side offices as I hailed and approached them. Now who was going to help me pick a plan that's right for my habits?

Finally I reached the interior of one of the buildings under construction or refurbishment or awaiting destruction. Sunshine was streaming through the rafters and I was given the illusion of being the last man in NYC. A craving for hot dogs, good hot dogs not that pillowy dogshit like Ballpark Franks, surpassed my desire for a telephone. I couldn't find the exit and all the hot dog stands and Gray's Papaya were outside out of my reach.