"Sir"
We drift through the city streets, scanning up and down the block for the venue of the concert. The air was cool and I feel glad that it's not raining tonight
At one point we pass by a tall black man. His rugged face with its uneven gray stubble is complemented by the worn-out melancholy army boots which cover his feet. In a deep but passive voice he asks us if we have any change. I walk forward pretending to ignore him, but Todd chooses to turn and meet him in the eye, turning his palms upward and saying,
'I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have anything.'
As we slide away a sonorous vociferation strikes me in the back like an arrow.
'DON'T CALL ME FUCKING 'SIR'!'
I have to say it was a unique moment in my life, for I didn't know whether I should laugh out loud or run in fear.
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...
|
 |
|