August 14, 2020. - Con mis chavos - No More Flash Fiction
I will no longer be including flash fiction. It was an experiment for me and now it’s over. It’s too hard for me to deliver that every day. I might try it next year after I finish this 2020 year of photography. Thank you to those that read and commented.
August 06, 2020. - Nice view, tho - Flash Fiction: 6
Flash Fiction: 6
With a slight grudge against la pandemia, he walked over the First Street bridge and into the Arts District. He was trying to get some “outside” time to help with the lifting of his spirits. A mood change, if you will. The mandated self quarantine had started to fuck with his mental. He was certain he would grow roots at his toes if the didn’t get out.
Walking listlessly, left foot, right, he remembered this part of town when it was very different from what you see today. He thinks gentrification fucked everything up by making it look just like everywhere else. Where you once had one-of-a-kind establishments you now get the run of the mill brewery and baked goods. If it weren’t for the old buildings you might as well be in Glendale. (Or Monrovia, imagine that.)
Meh! Fuck everybody, he thought as he avoided every business. He didn’t want to give any of them his money. None looked like they needed it. It was too weird to get food from a woman in a face shield and gloves. Plus all of the outdoor seating annoyed him even before this madness.
Fed up, he decided to walk further in to downtown where he finally stopped at a hot dog lady. At least there he can catch a virus with his dignity intact.
The grease sizzled louder than the bus engine that just blew a ton of exhaust in his direction. Put a mask on that fucker.
Mayonesa?
Si.
Verdura?
Si. Pongale todo.
Jalapeño?
Si.
Covid?
Que?
She handed him the nectar of the city wrapped in a thin semblance of paper.
Did she really ask me if I wanted Covid?, he thought.
Coca?
O Peksi?
Oh, no. Una agua por favor.
Consider that hot dog swallowed. Gone in 6 seconds. The water went down slowly. He took his time, crumbled the plastic and put it in a little cardboard box with other recyclables.
As he wiped his mouth and hands he looked at her one more time wondering if she really asked if he wanted covid on his wiener. He felt she did.
With a slight grudge against the lady, he walked home to the sound of conspiracy theories in his head about who planted her on that corner and why he was the chosen victim.
He sat with those worries for two weeks, in quarantine. After the two weeks he still got tested to make sure he was negative.
His cooking has improved.