By Jeff Switt
The temperature hovers around one-hundred and five. Red and white and torn awnings provide little relief from the sun. The town sold out of ice three days ago. Buddy thinks he’s a bad ass drinking his Lone Star hot out of the bottle. Elsie’s whined all morning. She wants him to drive to Abilene for ice. Buddy tells her to shut the hell up and to get him another beer. She pivots on her bare heel. Elsie pulls a longneck from Buddy’s truck, pops the cap, and pours it down her front. She gives Buddy the finger and turns the key.
Heat will do that! Good story — and perfect final sentence.
You go, Elsie! Great piece of flash.