Sunday, 28 June 2015


‘Do you take cheques?’
The barman shook his head with the adopted expression of a man who’d just stepped into dog-shit while Bret counted his loose change malevolently into his personal puddle of beer on the bar.
Bret then tore the picture of his wife’s new man and his son into quarters. Some anniversary!
Downing his pint, feeling like a marionette controlled by an incompetent puppeteer, he walked unsteadily over to her.
Courage fuelled, the challenge was now to simply to speak.
In a voice he barely recognised he managed to ask the fateful question:
‘Would you like to dance?’

(A flash story told in 100 words - no more, no less - inspired by the above photo)

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