Thank you, Alistair, for Sunday Photo Fiction. I think I am making it in before the deadline. (Last week I forgot to add my entry to Froggy. Ooops.) And, thanks for using my picture! That scene looks a lot different today. Maybe I’ll shoot a pic of its current state.
Do You Believe in Fairy Tales?
I’m all kinds of lost.
I guess fortune smiled when my elderly car hiccupped, coughed, spat dark smoke, then died outside of the small-town mechanics. Fortune stopped smiling when the mechanic wiped his hands on a rag, shook his head, and pronounced Ed the Eclipse dead.
I was stuck like Krazy Glue.
So, at four in the afternoon, cringing at the thought of asking for money from my father, who’d lectured me more than once about pursuing a career (he didn’t call it a career, no something far, far worse) in music instead of becoming a lawyer like him, I skulked into “G(r)in and Beer It” and climbed onto a barstool like the height-challenged woman I am.
The easy-on-the-eyes bartender watched me as if I were summiting Everest. His t-shirt said: No Trespassing. His smirk confounded an already bad day.
Obviously, I attacked. “So, your t-shirt.”
“I lost a bet.”
“It’s a cotton chastity belt.”
“Your girlfriend says you’re off-limits.”
I grinned. “So why?”
Raising an eyebrow, I waited.
He grumbled unintelligible words.
“My sister said the first person who asked me about the shirt was my soulmate.”