He ate the last crumbs, rolled up the wrapper and tossed it in the back.
Still hungry. Should’ve stopped at a store for provisions on the way.
Across the street nothing happened. He stared at the unmoving windows and door.
How long had it been? Three hours. Another five before the night shift took over.
The door opened. Not our guy. Just the old woman across the hall.
He felt tired. Maybe a stroll in the fresh air would help.
No, best stay put. Roll the window down at least.
Birdsong. Traffic. The sounds of a neighbourhood.
And keep watching.
Copyright Ted Strutz
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).
With all the turmoil going on around the world, it felt nice to write a story where, on…
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