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Summary
He knows the job pretty well by now; has been doing it for nearly a year. So it’s not that he needs the guidance from Dispatch, precisely; more that he craves it. Another human voice on the line.
It was the dispatcher himself, that velvet rich voice of his issuing commands or, better yet, those infrequent moments of praise. He’s certain it’s all part of a protocol of speech, words that the man has been instructed to dollop like whipped cream on a slice of cherry pie, but he’s far into the delusion that it’s specially gifted for him alone, a concept he allows himself only once he’s home, behind closed doors.