The streets of London are cold at night
I have soggy socks from deciding not to wear rainboots.
My raincoat reminds me of the man from Curious George.
If I had money for a taxi, I'd take one.

Skipping along cobblestone,
I follow the path of dim street lights.
It's hard to skip with an open umbrella.
So i'll just close it.

Soon enough i'm drenched,
And found a tall, red phone booth.
I'm drawing on the foggy glass door,
Because I have no one to call.

The world is quiet here.
People have came and left.
Many calls have been made.
Some mundane, some important.

Tuesday, half past noon
A boy called his mother from this phone
After being kicked out of the house
For kicking his cat.

Wednesday, an hour before midnight
A man left a voicemail from this phone
After his girlfriend turned down his proposal
Which later made him jump off a bridge.

Thursday, at 5 pm.
A woman bribed a waiter from this phone.
After rushing around town looking for last-minute dinner reservations
For forgetting her mother's birthday.

Friday, right after sunset
I am standing in this phone booth
After getting wet from the rain
For not being able to skip with an open umbrella.

I'm standing in the phone booth
Like the boy who kicked his cat
Or the man who's girlfriend would'nt marry him.
Or a woman who bribed a waiter.

The clock tower has rung,
It is getting late, and I have no one to call.
So I'll open my umbrella,
And slowly walk back home.