(Author’s note: Post-trip, work’s been crazy. Hence why I haven’t been on here. But I’m back for today. And here’s today’s fictioneers)
© Roger Bultot
Sharp Dressed Man
by Miles H. Rost
“I met her at one of the writing club’s outings.”
Delvin adjusted his tie, making sure that it was straight and neat. “She had interesting ideas about characters, and I wanted to find out more. So we’re going out tonight.” Delvin turned from the mirror and presented himself to his sister. “You look good. Getting older, but looking good,” she said, while crossing one of her stitches. “If we’re going to go see a nice play, I want to shine.” “If you wanted to shine, you’d have shaved and polished your head.” Delvin stifled a chortle. “I’m gonna use that.”
RIP Dusty Hill of ZZ Top. 72 years young, on the way to La Grange.
(Author’s note: I have been gone the last couple weeks, due to many different issues coming up and rearing their head, such as a digestive issue. I intend on doing more. It’s just taking a little longer to get things moving. Here’s today’s Fictioneers!)
by Miles H. Rost
Jim stood outside the bus depot, cigarette in hand, cold air on his face. A rush of exhaust passed by him as a Greyhound pulled up.
“Sorry, I’m late, Jim,” His partner, Warren, huffed as he ran up the sidewalk towards him.
“This better work, Warren. I quit a job buying lingerie for this.”
“It will. They want to take our work and turn it into a musical.”
Jim crushed his cigarette.
“New York, here we come, eh?”
“Well, let’s see what they say. I just hope they don’t turn Sandy into something strange.”
“Like an Australian?”
Chuckling, they boarded.