Flash Frenzy Round 44

Posted: November 15, 2014 in Flash Frenzy Weekend Flash Challenge
Tags: , , ,

We’re back! Welcome to Flash Frenzy Round 44. Judging this weekend is Nancy Chenier.

Before we get started, here’s a brief reminder of the rules.

Deadline: Sunday at 6:00pm MST. You all have 36 hours to create your best work of up to 360 words (exclusive of title) and post it into the comments below. Please include your word count (required) and Twitter handle if applicable. For complete rules, click here. 

The winning author and their story will be featured as Wednesday’s Hump-Day Quickie, receive a winner’s page, and be crowned Flash Master of the Week.

Here is your prompt.

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

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Comments
  1. milambc says:

    Fare Game (360 words)
    @brett_milam

    Waiting. Wasn’t that life? Just a series of protracted waiting punctuated by brief, immersive moments of action. Waiting for the hot coffee to cool just enough to shadow your lips above its molten surface. Waiting for your wife to pick just the right dress, the right makeup and the right hairstyle.

    Waiting for the taxi because in your luggage, you carried the remains of that wife that took too damn long. Okay, most of us don’t have that type of waiting problem. Then again, most of us don’t kill our wife after she changes dresses for the 15th time. But for fuck’s sake, if only she knew how much I raged inside to tear the dress off anyway, then she likely would have stopped caring.

    But she did care and it enraged me in a different way. No, not the crime of passion, impulse way. I’m not impulsive, I promise. In the way that, we had danced this charade enough times that I no longer heard the music.

    When your foot stops tapping to the music, then you know it’s time to react. That’s when the waiting stops and the fun action beings. I used the ice bucket.

    Admittedly, that method took a while. Involved lot of waiting for the gurgling to cease.

    Some will call me a woman-hater, a feminist-killer. Go on, labels don’t change the lack of blood flowing to my dead wife’s brain.

    But damn if my shoulder wasn’t beginning to strain. I knew I had the black-guy-doesn’t-get-a-taxi-in-New-York thing going on, but I had a nice suit and I was standing outside a Hilton. That had to count for something.

    I whistled again as a flash of yellow approached. This time it stopped in front of me.

    “Can you pop the trunk?” I say to the bearded man.

    He does and I plop my wife — all seven parts to be exact — into the trunk and close it shut.

    In the backseat of the taxi, I text my mistress, Susan, a bit of an ugly name for something as sexy as a mistress, to tell her I was running late.

    That she would have to wait.

  2. davidshakes says:

    It Was Me.
    By David Shakes
    360 words
    @theshakes72
    #flashdog

    Cab drivers would congregate around their stationary vehicles during quieter periods. Whilst waiting , they’d play ‘My Strangest Fare.’
    They’d tell the tallest tales to pass the time; fictions and half truths, recycled stories from drivers’ folklore.
    Today, most had drifted away, the stories had been sparse and lacklustre. Dave had recounted his version of the Phantom Hitchhiker, but no amount of embellishment could lift his tale above tired cliché.
    There were just the three of them when Addison spoke up. It got their attention – Addison rarely spoke at all and had never recounted a story as far as anyone could remember, despite years as a driver.
    “I got one,” he spoke softly, leaning on his hood and folding his arms.
    The other two waited. There was no precedent for Addison’s style, but they sensed it should unfold as he saw fit.
    “This morning, I picked up a fare. It was me.”
    The words hung in the air. Time passed. When it appeared he’d say no more, they began to formulate questions; create suitably crushing derision, but he spoke again before they could verbalise them.
    “Not a long-lost twin; not a clone or doppelganger. He wasn’t a time traveller or inhabitant of some parallel world. He was… me.”
    This time one broke into the monologue.
    “Where’s this going, Addi?” asked Joseph, the driver nearest him, “I mean, how could he *be* you?”
    “It was me. I can’t explain it. We recognised each other immediately. It felt like an endless echo; edges blurred…”
    Addison shrugged. Another long silence followed. He’d been matter of fact, almost deadpan, but somehow this made the hairs on their necks stand up further. Joseph’s lunch felt heavy on his stomach. This was all wrong.
    “What happened next?”
    Addison walked to the rear of the taxi, nodding for them to follow. He waited until they’d both joined him and popped the trunk.
    The body inside was a mess. A large, ragged hole replaced the face. Mixed fluids had leaked from the wound and soaked into the rough carpet that lined the space. It was dressed exactly like Addison.
    “What do you think?” he asked.

  3. zevonesque says:

    The Story Eater
    by A J Walker

    Tom lived for his simple work; he loved his driving and never knowing where the day would take him. It was the minutes of stolen conversations, the fragments of lives taken with vicarious eagerness that excited him. He didn’t make much money, but it wasn’t about the money; driving around in his makeshift chariot he was the story eater.

    He talked to the other drivers when they were between jobs, but he felt the sad camaraderie about it sapped his energy as if trudging through endless mud. They all knew too much about each other to talk properly, there was so much left unsaid and everyone knew it and in the background – the elephant in the room – the loneliness of taxi drivers as they all struggled with their multitude of demons.

    When the system pinged a job to him like a bequest his heart fluttered with excitement; each time like a small lottery win. He never knew who would be next, always though there would be a new piece to the puzzle. As he ferried his passengers around the city he ate up their stories the snatches of someone else’s experience. He disliked the quiet ones, but he could always manage to eek out something somehow from anyone who got into his car. He was an expert in communication beyond which the passengers could comprehend.

    The ladies and gentlemen, the thugs and sluts, the drunks and the priests, each and all would get out of the cab bewildered at what they had told this driver seemingly unbidden. Little bits of untellable tales, of secrets and feelings, all told to this stranger as if under a spell or truth drug. Stories from deep in the past, supposedly lost information and times long forgotten dragged out from the mush in their heads as if on a rising foam.

    Tom would take these stories and weave them into his web of knowledge of the world. He’d lie back at the end of his day digesting the days takings thinking them over and over savouring each remembered moment. Each story was now his and for now he was sated.

    Tomorrow he would eat again.

    (360 words)
    @zevonesque

    #FlashDogs

  4. joshbertetta says:

    Josh Bertetta
    357 Words
    @JBertetta
    Teaching the ABCs

    “Are they at it again daddy?”

    “Boy, come here.” He finished the afternoon’s fifth beer, set the twelve pack on the floor, and patted the chair beside him.

    “Charlie, please—”

    “Don’t you tell me how to raise my own son woman! Come here Duke.”

    “Every day. Right daddy?” He bobbed upon the chair next to his father, his legs not long enough for his feet to touch the floor. “They do it every day.”

    “Forget about it Karl, just let it go.”

    “God damn it Mary, the boy needs to learn!”

    “Here Duke. See ‘em all out there? Scramblin’ around like cockroaches.”

    “I do daddy, I do.”

    “Just loafin’ around. The whole damn lot of ‘em. Beggin.’”

    “Karl—”

    “Look there daddy see?” He pointed to the one near the car. “Probably asking for change right?”

    “Motherfuckers.” Karl shook his head.

    “Niggers.” He looked to his father and smiled upon receiving approval.

    “Oh for God’s sake. I can’t take this anymore.” She buried her face in her hands and ran to her room.

    “Probably pushing drugs too right daddy?”

    “Quick as a whip son, quick as a whip.”

    “Reggies.”

    “Son, you’re gonna grow up just right.” He threw his arm around Duke’s shoulders and pulled him close.

    “Thanks to you daddy.”

    “Understand this Duke,” he began, cracking open his next beer. “We ain’t the same as them. None of us are the same as them. We don’t do that kind of shit, nor do we act like they do, like they’re trying to get everyone to look at them.”

    “Vanity, that’s what you said right daddy? Vanity?”

    “Well, some of them son are full of it. Mostly the younger ones wantin’ to look right, spendin’ all their money on their shoes, their gold. Not those ones down there. They just walk around beein’ loud, never thinkin’ to get a job. They’re all a bunch of—”

    “Ex-cons!”

    “You got it. Damn you’re smart.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “But they’ll go back soon enough, believe you me, and if they haven’t been to jail yet, it’s only a matter of time. You remember—”

    “Zoo ape.”

    • This made me uncomfortable while reading it but that is just due to excellent character and dialogue. And you didn’t pull any punches throughout, especially with that last line from the boy.

    • Geoff Holme says:

      Only now, re-reading this harrowing piece , did I wonder the precise meaning of the title.

      I wonder how many others spotted that there are 26 paragraphs and noticed their initial letter.

      Clever stuff, Josh!

  5. OPPORTUNITY

    Brian S Creek
    348 words
    @BrianSCreek
    #FlashDog

    “So the boss says it’s an immigration tax. Says there are costs to preventing the law from sniffing around.”

    “That’s the problem,” said Omar. “We come here to work hard and just end up in situations where we are easily taken advantage of.”

    “Exactly,” said Aydin. “I was a high school maths teacher back home but all I can do here is drive a taxi. Illegally.”

    “Can you try and explain your situation to him?”

    “And lose this pathetic job that I hate so much?”

    Their conversation was interrupted by a scream coming from above. Looking up they both saw a man falling through the air towards them. Omar and Aydin dived out of the way as the man smashed through the roof of the Aydin’s cab. Glass exploded out as the windows buckled. The car alarm shrieked at the intrusion.

    Aydin stood up and cautiously moved towards what remained of his ‘office’. Behind him Omar and the other taxi drivers bolted. He didn’t blame them; illegal workers at a crime scene would mean questions, questions that would divert from ‘dead man on car’ to ‘witness employment status’. He looked over the damage and the body. The guy was definitely dead and his taxi was definitely trashed. Things had just gotten worse.

    As he stepped closer he kicked something in the gutter. Looking down he saw a suitcase. He looked around and saw that no one was coming to take a closer look at the accident, which was strange because most times people just couldn’t help themselves.

    Aydin picked up the suit case and set it down on the now slightly deformed bonnet of his taxi. He popped the catches and opened it to see what was inside.

    Money. Lots of money.

    He closed it quicker than he drew the breath of surprise and looked around. Still no one. This was a U-turn of fortune, a beacon of hope. This could help him make a fresh start in a country that was determined to keep him down.

    All he had to do was take the money and run.

  6. C Connolly says:

    Night’s Shift

    “You talking, then?” the cabbie demands. “S’been a long night and nobody’s been chatty. Makes for a longer one.”

    “Much of the shift left?” Em enquires, glancing at her watch.

    “Five hours,” her driver responds.

    “Quite a few then,” she says.

    “Y’might say that!” 1401 replies, meeting her glance in the mirror. Em sees skeletal cheekbones; skin stretched tightly across them. Sleep starved eyes.

    “Burning the candle at both ends?”

    “Guy’s got to make a living. Not everyone’s generous with tips.”

    “That a hint?” Em asks, smiling.

    “Wouldn’t be so bold!” 1401 says. “Tell you what – I’ll even give you the chance t’get your ride for free. How’s that sound? We’ll play a game, you n’me. You win, you pay nothing. On a timer, mind. The more time you take, the less off the total, ‘til you pay full whack. Fair’s fair?”

    “Guess so,” Em answers, glancing out the window, before looking back into the mirror.

    “This tunnel, right? You’ve ‘til we make it halfway through to tell me the difference between it and t’other one. The one you’re more familiar with, I’ll bet? Test of observation.”

    Em pauses, brow creased, before opening her mouth.

    “Got it?” 1401 asks, grinning. “Easy, really; though not tonight, I’ll guess. Been out for a couple?”

    “With friends,” Em says. “Not for many.”

    “Struggling for the answer though, love, aren’t you?”

    Em’s chest heaves, a gasp grating her throat. The cab is still now; engine off. There is burning inside her lungs as she reaches for the lock. Already lit and engaged. “Anomaly,” she chokes out, as glass implodes before her.

    “Got him,” Keyes is saying, pulling her to her feet. “Good one, Dyer.”

    “Y’took your time, Agent,” Em says, voice husky.

    “Apologies,” Keyes says. “Can’t imagine it’s pleasant being forced to swallow your own words.”

    “Friggin’ freaky,” Em answers, shaking her head.

    “’S what we live for,” Keyes says.

    “If we’re lucky.”

    Keyes is rolling his eyes. Em coughs. “Wait ‘til it’s your turn to play vic, mister. Not so blasé then, I’ll bet.”

    “When you’re so much smaller and more appealing?” Keyes questions, eyes twinkling. Em simply looks – words momentarily unnecessary.

    (360 words)

    @FallIntoFiction
    #FlashDog

  7. Psychology
    260 words

    “If the taxi drivers stop coming in here, we’re dead”

    I looked up from buttering the mountain of toast. I used the word buttering liberally because God only knows what’s in this spread and He keeps it to himself. Eileen acquires the catering packs from a man who knows a man that gives them to Eddie to sell to Eileen for a pittance. How they all manage to earn a crust is beyond me. That reminds me to inspect the bread for mould it feels well old.

    “Why will they do that?”

    “The council is talking about moving the Taxi Rank”

    “Why?”

    Eileen sniffed in exasperation; she frequently did that when I entered into conversation with her. She didn’t really want me to answer. I had a degree in psychology, just waiting for the right job opportunity to land in my lap and she didn’t need me to question everything she said.

    Raj was much happier to answer my questions. I always gave him extra portions and forgot to add the second mug of tea to his bill. He told me all about the proposed move and how all the drivers were giving it the thumbs up. The rank would be nearer the centre of town, more customers and more cash flow. He even pointed me in the direction of my new venture and became my silent partner. He’s not that silent when I tell him how much profit we’re making each month. He’s ecstatic.

    Not sure whether Eileen died or not. I know her café is up for sale.

  8. Geoff Holme says:

    Taxi

    I hate competing for attention.

    Trying to get drinks at a crowded bar is a nightmare – wait patiently then, when it’s my turn, the bartender serves someone else.

    Hailing a cab is even more of a challenge.

    Leaving the Amtrak station, I was hugely relieved to find that I had not one but three cabs vying for my custom.

    The drivers were all idly talking together. Then one walked over, flashing a genial smile, nodding affably when I told him my destination. He placed my case in the trunk as I climbed into the back and relaxed.

    He was a basketball fan, talking animatedly about The Bobcats’ reincarnation as The Hornets, looking forward to the new season. When I got the chance, I told him that I was from out of state, that I followed The Knicks. He generously said that he wouldn’t hold it against me.

    This light-hearted banter allayed my anxiety; the journey passed quickly. Soon I found myself standing on the sidewalk, taking a lungful of air before walking inside the medical center.

    Four weeks later, standing in the same spot, willing myself to hail a cab, I was amazed to find myself immediately successful. And the cabbie was the same one who’d brought me here!

    His smile was even more genial. Purely professional though: he didn’t recognise me. I’d be recuperating at my sister’s place, so I gave him her address in the suburbs. The shadow passing over his eyes told me he wasn’t keen to drive so far from downtown. But he said “Sure.”

    Getting in, I noticed the lettering on the door – ‘Charlotte’. Mm-mmm, pretty name, I thought.

    Conversation was non-existent this time. It felt awkward. Seeing a photo of a young girl on his dashboard, I took the plunge and asked if it was his daughter.

    “Yeah,” he beamed, “that’s my Ayisha. Best thing ever happen to me!”

    He told me all about her. When he finished, he asked if I had children.

    “No, that wasn’t possible for me.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

    My heart skipped a beat. I’d have to get used to being addressed like that.

    @GeoffHolme
    Word Count: 359

  9. voimaoy says:

    Ravi’s Ride
    @voimaoy
    357 words

    What do you do if you are a medical school dropout, an ex-seminarian, an almost-PhD? You get a job with Flash Cab. Simon was the med-school dropout. Lucas was the ex-seminarian. Ravi had studied comparative literature.

    Simon had delivered babies. Lucas had been robbed at gunpoint and talked a man out of suicide. Ravi had listened to their stories.

    Ravi didn’t have exciting stories, but he was still quite new at the job. He liked the work, though. Driving a cab was a refreshing change from grad school and the post-literate posturing. This was real.

    His usual route was from one of the big hotels to the airport, from the airport to one of the hotels. Quick and easy, not much to say. Most of his passengers were professional people, coming or going to a business meeting or a conference. He had met bankers and attorneys, doctors, architects and engineers.

    There was a woman waiting as he pulled up to the entrance of the Chase Carlton Hotel. She was not old, not young, and simply but elegantly dressed. She had only a large shoulder bag.

    “To the airport, please. and hurry! ” she said, as she got in the cab. Her voice was surprisingly smoky. He knew that voice from ads and old movies on late-night vintage TV.

    “Excuse me,” he said, not daring to look at her, even if she was wearing sunglasses. ” Aren’t you that actress, the one who…”

    She smiled slightly. “Oh, not anymore. I’m directing movies, now. Trying, anyway.”

    “Really! I loved you in that movie.” Ravi was gushing and he knew it. He concentrated on the merging traffic on the expressway, considering shortcuts and alternate routes.

    “Why thank you.” Hazel eyes met his surprised brown ones in the rear-view mirror. “And what about you?”

    “Me?

    “Aren’t you an actor? You could be.”

    “Oh, no. I just drive a cab.”

    “I bet you hear good stories. ”

    “No one would believe this one.”

    And so they talked all the way to the airport. Ravi dropped her off at the terminal.

    Warm lips brushed his cheek. “Write me a story, Ravi. I’ll make you a star.”

  10. Knights Of The Road

    “Pick up The Ball?”

    Joey sighed. Ten minutes till his shift ended, but he was up next, and he couldn’t dodge it forever. He leant into the cab and thumbed the radio.

    “Cab 54, Carmelita. What have you got?”

    “Heyyy Joey. Finally caught another?”

    He imagined ruby red lips pursed into a smile, wondered if the rest of her was as warm and honeyed as her voice, but was kind of glad he’d never find out.

    “Hit me.”

    He listened intently as he pulled away from the stand, got the name, the address and the reason. By the time it was done, his mood was lower than the night’s tips.

    “I’m there.”

    “Thank you Joey. Good luck.”

    The line went dead, then the regular dispatcher cut in. Joey killed the radio and pulled over.

    The dead drop was a garbage can on a mid rent block. Joey retrieved the package, checked the contents, then dialled the number they gave.

    “Hello?”

    Gruff, sleepy and still drunk. That made it easier.

    “Mr. Pace?”

    “Yeah, whosis?”

    “I’m from OK Cabs sir. One of our drivers picked you up tonight, found your credit card on the backseat.”

    “Aw Christ…”

    “No worries sir, I pass your block on my way home and I’m right outside.”

    “Yeah? I’ll be right down.”

    Joey waited at the door, centering himself. When Pace appeared, he held a credit card and looked pissed. It was easy to imagine him doing what Carmelita had described.

    “Checked my wallet, dipshit. I don’t know what scam-“

    Joey caught him around the neck, jabbed in the ampoule with well-practised precision, then stepped clear as Pace fell into a dead drop of his own.

    Joey looked up at the security camera, safe in the knowledge that only Carmelita saw him now.

    “Job done. Red Ball down. I’m off the clock.”

    He saluted, imagined ruby red lips set in grim determination, then drove home. He wanted a beer, but that was never a good idea after catching The Ball. Instead he made do with watching Sal and the kids sleeping, safe in the knowledge that there was one less monster out there for them to meet.

    360 words
    @Karl_A_Russell
    #FlashDog

  11. Image Ronin says:

    The Fare

    Hey how ye doin?

    Where’s that?

    41st and Main? No worries, you sit back and I’ll get you there in a shakes of a … HEY ASSHOLE COMING THROUGH, DON’T MIND ME … Sorry about that, people these days, just cause they got lights and a red cross. Anyway, how’s your … BLOW ME YOU FAG … day going?

    No man, I got another eight hours of this. What ye get for living a bad life or summin according to Pestilence. What that rancid turd knows about anything … YEAH, YEAH AND I WAKE UP EACH MORNING WITH YOUR MISSUS … you can put on the head of a pin.

    Sorry?

    Oh nothing , just the classic tale of middle management biting the bullet for the the big wigs upstairs. I mean, take me, loyal service, hit all my KPIs, unlike that obese slut Famine. I mean, who the hell gets fat with a name like that? You’ll recognise his cab, it’s the one with a mound of fast food wrappers beside the driver’s door. Honestly, demotion does funny things to some people, not me, nossir! I’m a …. HONK ME ONE MORE TIME AND I’LL SHOVE THAT CHEVROLET UP YER ASS … dedicated guy, a real people person. So when the push came, well I knew what we had to do. Problem is there was a real swathe of redundancy. So what happens? Everyone has the same idea. All carving out a bit of territory. Made driving the streets real tough. I had Loki in my cab once y’know, dolled up like a dame. Man he jumped out when I showed him the size of my axe. You get me?

    Eh?

    That was a metaphor, Death says I got to expand my voca … vocabu … YEAH, YEAH SAME TO YOU BUDDY … words.

    I meant penis.

    Anyway you’ve got Thor and the boys work the taxis downtown, we have central, and there’s a real Asian/Indian fusion thing up town. Ah here we go sir, see easier than riding a horse eh?

    That’s gonna be twenty-two bucks.

    YOU CALL THAT A TIP!

    WHERE’S MY AXE!

    AND I DON’T MEAN PENIS!!!!!

    359 words
    @imageronin
    #flashdog

  12. Rebekah Postupak says:

    Extra

    “I chased Snow White once.”

    “That right?”

    “Yeah. I was a wolf that time. It was pretty cool. They said I could eat her if I caught her. Never did, though.”

    “You get close?”

    “Nah. Not really. There was this psychotic huntsman between us, kept fighting us off instead of her.”

    “Plant?”

    “That’s what I figured. They needed her alive for the dwarves, later. You probably read about it.”

    “Bummer.”

    “I didn’t mind. It paid well.”

    “What about you, Steffan?”

    “I’ve done several, actually. I was a bird once, had to eat some crumbs off a path.”

    “You got paid for eating?? No way.”

    “Yeah, some kids dropped bread crumbs en route to Candy Cottage. I had to eat while they weren’t looking. Pretty fun. Loads better than the time I went from mouse to horse back to mouse, all like in six hours. Part of my head’s still spinning. And I never got paid.”

    “A mouse to a horse to—?”

    “Mouse. Had to hang out in some garden. There was this gorgeous fat pumpkin we weren’t allowed to eat.”

    “Torture.”

    “No joke. Anyway, we hung out for a couple hours, then changed into horses and pulled this monstrous heavy coach to the castle on empty bellies. Do you know they used the pumpkin for that?! Cheapskates. Then back to mice just outside the castle, and I had to hitch a ride home. That stunk. I was so hungry.”

    “Wow. Yeah, I bet.”

    “Ate the pumpkin before I left though. And they cancelled my check for spite.”

    “Ugh.”

    “No kidding. Wasn’t even worth it; tasted like shoe leather. Oh well. OK, so Ali was a wolf, I was a bird and a mouse. What about you, Javier?”

    “Tonight’s my first, actually.”

    “Your first! Ha! You hear that, Ali?”

    “I’m right here, idiot. –That’s great, Javier. They tell you anything?”

    “Wolf. I’m shadowing some red-hooded girl and impersonating an old lady.”

    “Character work? Cool!”

    “I know, right??”

    “Well, good luck, man.”

    “Thanks. I’ve got a great feeling.”

    “That’s what it’s all about, eh, Steffan?”

    “Not for me. You two keep your happy endings; I just want the paycheck.”

    [Laughter]

    359 words
    @postupak

  13. The Comely Cannibal

    Keep waving your hand, buddy. I see you. Yes, I’m ignoring you. Don’t fret, somebody will snatch you up. That snazzy suit of yours will help. Sorry, this cab is trawling for the pretty things with razor smiles.

    She was standing on the corner, same as always. A body like chilled custard, firm with the proper amount of jiggle. She had the kind of face that required future alimony payments. Her painted nails flagged me down. I tried not to swoon.

    “You want a blowjob?”

    “Do what?”

    “Do you like your job?”

    Damn. “It gives me some freedom, so yeah, it’s okay. What about you, you work?”

    “I eat men.”

    “I bet you do. How does that pay these days?”

    “I could throw out numbers, but it would sink your heart. If you had made a better career choice, maybe I’d eat you, too.”

    “I ain’t gullible, lady. I ain’t that easy.”

    “No? That’s cute. What if I opened my coat and gave you a little glimpse? What would you do then?”

    “I’d look, that’s what I’d do. Might even let my eyes linger, take a mental snapshot. Doesn’t mean I’d fall in love, sweetheart.”

    “Is that why you drive by my corner like a yellow stalker everyday, ’cause you’re not easy? I’ve seen that look of yours before, I see it a hundred times a week. I own you, I own them all.”

    “Boobs and a vagina, lady, plenty of those around. Fish in a barrel.”

    “Yes, you drive a taxi for a living. I’m sure your social calendar is busting at the seams. I’d wager that you have an OK Cupid account. Am I right?”

    She was right. “Please, that’s insulting. My bed squeaks on a nightly basis.”

    “That’s hilarious. This is my stop, and your last chance at rapture. You want a teaser before I go? It might inspire you to be more successful.”

    “Maybe next time.”

    “How much I do owe you, mister lothario?”

    “No charge. Have a nice day.”

    “Thanks for the meal.”

    I cranked a tune by Hall and Oates as she glided away, her backside swaying like a deserted boat in a typhoon.

    @Blukris
    359 words
    #FlashDog

    • Geoff Holme says:

      “She had the kind of face that required future alimony payments.” Wow! I’d give the title for that sentence alone! Is it from Chapter Thirteen of your novel? Har! Har!

      “…her backside swaying like a deserted boat in a typhoon.” Chandleresque!

      [Bows in honage]

    • Geoff Holme says:

      “She had the kind of face that required future alimony payments.” Wow! I’d give you the title for that sentence alone! Is it from Chapter Thirteen of your novel? Har! Har!

      “…her backside swaying like a deserted boat in a typhoon.” Chandleresque!

      [Bows in homage]

  14. […] entry in the latest Angry Hourglass Flash Frenzy contest. Your story had to be inspired by the photo below and the word count max was […]

  15. […] is my latest story based on the photo prompt from The Angry Hourglass. Note the first letter of each line of […]

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