“Holy shit! Where's a cell phone camera when you need one?”

“The cell phone in my pocket went off. Shit! Damn it! Why do I carry these infernal gadgets? Why does anybody in their right mind need to constantly be on call?”

“Holy shit!""Since when is shit holy?”

“Holy shit," I breathed. "Hellhounds.""Harry," Michael said sternly. "You know I hate it when you swear.""You're right. Sorry. Holy shit," I breathed, "heckhounds.”

“I’ll leave my disconnected cell phone as collateral, and I’ll call you on it when I’m able to pay.”

“He returned in a moment with a phone, a high-end model that probably cost way more than hers. His cell phone wallpaper was an abstract artwork with lots of colorful circles and blots—Kandinsky, maybe, or Miro? She always got thosetwo confused. She gave him points for not having a picture of some scantily-clad woman thrusting her boobs at the camera, like Steve had on his phone. Tacky. Nude-woman wallpapers were the cell phone equivalent of silver naked-lady mud flaps, in her opinion.”