Between blotch and blok

"... stolen my raincoat! And...."
The voice seeped under the cubicle door.
"Shit! Voicemail."
A pause, then an impatient sigh.
"Me again. There's never time for complicated-- Hell, no, wait. The raincoat. I just hung it over the door. Hook's broken. Like the rest of the crap in here. Didn't want it dragging on the floor while I went. Then it went. Some bastard's walked past and grabbed it. And I'm like...."
Another break.
"Still me. Hey, where are you? I really could do with some help... now. I can't walk out of here like this. Can you come? With a coat or something. Not your jacket. It's too short. Something, like, long. And warm. It's bloody freezing."
Silence. Punctuated by brisk clatterings of stiletto heels.
A trill of notes. Curtailed.
"Yeah. Where are you?"
An attentive moment.
"How long?"
An instant of tension.
"Well, what do you suggest, then?"
A beat.
"No, I can't use an umbrella. It's not the rain that-- Look, do I need to take a picture?"
A tiny crackle of distant laughter that drowns in enraged expletives.
A phone sails over the cubicle door.