As I’m searching the newspaper before I use it to light the wood stove, one classified advertisement diverts my attention. Call me. I need to hear from you.
There’s a number. I recognize the area code for eastern California; I’m across the border in Nevada, trying to keep warm in a tin-roofed cabin on some rancher’s north forty.
After I finish my coffee, I pick up the phone and dial.
“Hello?” It’s a woman’s voice.
“Howdy, I’m calling about your ad.”
“Hi. I’m lonely. I needed to hear another voice.”
“Cowboy. Me, too.”
It really wasn’t a very long conversation.