The phone booths in Gotham City were bad. Expensive, falling down, and irritating. A quarter for a local call of two minutes with quality of a gramophone from the 40s. The phonebook was always covered in an array of liquids no matter where the phone booth was.

Dick was familiar with the phone booths even though he didn’t have to use them. Though he knew that everybody weren’t as lucky as him and had no other choice than using the booths. Like you.

Dick was walking down the street to his apartment when he saw a mildly frustrated figure standing in one of the dimly lit phone booths. He didn’t need to hear more than your frustrated cursing to assume that you’d run out of time and likely didn’t have more coins left to get more time.

Gently knocking on the glass to get your attention, he smiles his usual charming smile while holding out a couple of quarters as he asks as charismatically as always,

Dick: “Do you need any more quarters?”