"Hello?" I asked, immediately fighting down a small shock at hearing the first spoken voice in days, even if it was my own. I had gotten used to the droning hum of the building's inner workings, my computer, and the soda machines in the hallway. There was no response to my greeting at first, but then, finally, a voice came.
"Hey," said a clear male voice, obviously of college age, like me. "Who's this?"
"John," I replied, confused.
"Oh, sorry, wrong number," he replied, then hung up.
I lowered the phone slowly and leaned against the thick brick wall of the stairwell. That was strange. I looked at my received calls list, but the number was unfamiliar. Before I could think on it further, the phone rang loudly, shocking me yet again. This time, I looked at the caller before I answered. It was another unfamiliar number. This time, I held the phone up to my ear, but said nothing. I heard nothing but the general background noise of a phone. Then, a familiar voice broke my tension.
"John?" was the single word, in Amy's voice.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Hey, it's you," I replied.
"Who else would it be?" she responded. "Oh, the number. I'm at a party on Seventh Street, and my phone died just as you called me. This is someone else's phone, obviously."
"Oh, ok," I said.
"Where are you?" she asked.
My eyes glanced over the drab white-washed cylinder block walls and the heavy metal door with its small window.
"At my building," I sighed. "Just feeling cooped up. I didn't realize it was so late."
"You should come here," she said, laughing.
"Nah, I don't feel like looking for some strange place by myself in the middle of the night," I said, looking out the window at the silent windy street that secretly scared me just a tiny bit. "I think I'm just going to keep working or go to bed."
"Nonsense!" she replied. "I can come get you! Your building is close to Seventh Street, right?"
"How drunk are you?" I asked lightheartedly. "You know where I live."
"Oh, of course,” she said abruptly. "I guess I can't get there by walking, huh?"
"You could if you wanted to waste half an hour," I told her.
"Right," she said. "Ok, have to go, good luck with your work!"