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Summary
Rummaging in his pocket for the first coin, Spamton hesitated for a moment – he could have bought himself a cheap lunch with this money – before pushing it into the slot.
He held his breath, listening to the muted ringing as the call tried to go through, waiting, hoping, until—
A click—
“T—T—[[TENS machine]]??”
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Spamton dreams of the night he made a phone call.
[Written for Sleepy Spamton September.]