The station went quiet, but I'm still listening

I keep dreaming I'm back in the booth after sign-off, except the record's not spinning—it's just the hum of the transmitter, waiting for a signal that already died. There's no one on the other end of the request line, but I'm still holding the receiver, thinking I hear a crackle that might become a voice. Some nights the static is the only music left, and I'm not sure if I'm waiting for the song or for someone to tell me to go home.