Designated Caller

(Phone rings)
Logan: Hello?

Hannah: I hate this apartment; it’s tiny.

Logan: What? Who is this?

Hannah: Who else would call you about their tiny apartment?

Logan: Sorry, should have known. How’s the move going?

Hannah: It’s tiny, extremely tiny. You know how tiny? I can cook and shower at the same time; even the roaches are complaining.

Logan: That is tiny—

Hannah: And it smells.

Logan: Like roaches?

Hannah: Like a nursing home; if the nursing home doubles as a crack house. I heard rustling in the one—yes one closet, so now I can’t open it because of what might come out.

Logan: Maybe it’s the roaches; use a shoe to kill them.

Hannah: They already died from the smell!

Logan: Or they passed out from your nonstop talking.

Hannah: Is my panic attack fun for you?

Logan: You know if you really hate the smell, try cleaning up with some bleach or something; it won’t smell like crack and the bleach smell will kill any insect intruders.

Hannah: Okay, then I should probably go buy some cleaning supplies—and food, though I don’t remember seeing anything even close to looking like a grocery store in this area.

Logan: You could always move back home.

Hannah: I’m not going back there, I’m trying to be independent.

Logan: Then start by cleaning your apartment!

Hannah: I don’t have anything to clean with.

Logan: That’s what stores—what’s that noise?

Hannah: A siren, or screaming, either way I’m not going outside.

Logan: Get off the phone.

Hannah: What? Why?

Logan: So I can come by with some Lysol, take-out and a bat.

Hannah: What’s the bat for?

Logan: To get rid of whatever’s living in your closet.

Hannah: Are you sure, did you hear how small it is? I don’t even have any furniture yet.

Logan: Then I’ll use the toilet as a chair, bye.

Hannah: Bye.
(Hangs up phone.)