The place for writers: Upload your writing in minutes, receive peer feedback from other writers, poets, authors, then get your work published out there in the real world. Learn how other writers are doing it.
The squeak of a wheelchair. The traffic clattering over a speed-bump. You couldn't miss him. A sign in childish hand about Asia's monkeys and a mechanical one banging tin cymbals as old man wheezes into a harmonica. No tune. No rhyme or reason. The rattle of spare change into a metal cup. Music to his ears.
Want to comment on this Flash Fiction? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Flash Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
