It was Thursday. Saturday was New Year’s Day. The weather report said cloudy until Monday.
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He just had to get out of the apartment and away from writing for a while. But where do you go with no money? His pension check was late.
He found enough pennies in the penny jar to make a little over three dollars. Three dollars was enough for a cheap forty-ounce bottle of beer. The first time he goes to the new bank on the corner, and it’s to exchange six rolls of pennies so he can get a forty of Pabst. How humiliating. The overcast day fit his mood.
On the way back to his apartment, with the forty cradled in his right arm and his mind back on the writing, a woman said his name.
“Jen,” he said. “How are you?”
“Fine.” She laughed, actually pleased to see him. She pointed at the crest on his hoodie and laughed again. “Del’s. I just love it.”
He thought quickly. “Marianne gave it to me for…service beyond the call of duty.”
They both got a good laugh out of that one. It was an inside joke.
She said, “I can’t wait to read the book. I’m ordering my copy this weekend.”
When he got back in his apartment, before taking off his hoodie and cap, he cracked open the forty and had a long drink to celebrate.
Flash Fiction: Nude Massage is a short story.
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