Another fragging phone booth, this one on Union, uphill from Highway 5, on the fringe of the "Pill Hill" region. I’m trying to grow eyes in the back of my head as I punch in another LTG number and wait. At the dulcet tones of Lone Star Personnel’s automated attendant, I jam in a five-digit extension, and listen while a snythesized voice tells me, "You have reached a non-working extension." Yeah, right. It clicks at me but doesn’t hang up, and I enter my five zeroes.