i love old rotary phones; i love that you think about the numbers you’re dialing and that you have to hope that your finger doesn’t catch when you get a big number like an eight or nine or the dreaded zero which means starting all over again; i love that hanging up takes action, sadly letting the receiver come to rest or slamming it down, godammit; i love holding the big phone handle, the feel of it against my ear and cheek or chin, like i’m holding a conch shell to hear the ocean; i love that i could pull the cord into the next room and shut the door on it and the dent would stay in the coil for a day; i love that i could wrap my finger in the cord and pretend it was wrapped in the person i was talking to; i love old rotary phones.