Growing up, my best friend was chronically late. In the ’90s, every time she was late meant I was standing on a street corner by myself for an undetermined length of time, with a pocket full of anxious hope and payphone quarters. Sometimes the wait would be so long that I would give up and walk home. If I were too far from home, I would use a quarter to call my parents and ask them to come back and pick me up. It got to the point where my parents wouldn’t let me hang out with her unless others were meeting up with us.
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