Another night banging around in the trashcans of Newcago, I needed a drink. A tall one and a Cheesesteak at Tony’s would do nicely.
I noticed the dame – she was a looker. I couldn’t get a read on the guy beneath the brim.
“Yeah, the regular,” I nodded. Sally and I go back to days when drinks came from the hose in the horse’s mouth.
I couldn’t help but hear dollface gagging. I rushed to stop her fall. Too late – white stuff was bubbling from her mouth, her eyes glazed over.
Something besides the guy under the shadowy brim was missin- a large sparkler around her wrist.
“Baby, Newcago is not like life on the farm…
…Playing is for keeps.”
A new week for writing flash fiction over at Friday Fictioneers with a host of fiction writers. As you can see the picture prompt may mean you’ll find a bit of hay stuck between the pages but please go over and check out some of the excellent writers. Thanks to Rochelle for keeping us thirsty for more…
If you’d like to read the first of this flash fiction serial set in the sleepy town (cough, cough) of Newcago have a gander.
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