I light an American Spirit and lean on the fence, tapping the first ash into the weeds. My sun-browned arm, dust mixed with water set in motion for the allotted time, brings the cigarette back to my lips.
The house looks good. Needs a little plaster but the walls are sound. Can’t say why I care much anyway, it’s just mortar and adobe bricks stacked up in place for a few decades or so. I think for a moment. The price of dust, figuratively speaking, is around thirty pieces of silver. A done deal – no returns accepted.
I return after a week’s absence! Superlative apologies for not being around last week – I was flying instruments on balloons over explosions meant to simulate volcanoes. Has life ever been this good? Anyway…Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.
I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer. The weekly photo that inspired this story is below: