“A femur you say?”
Detective Constable took up his notebook, raised his left eyebrow scrutinizing the old drunkard.
Through smell of pee and booze, Constable could distinguish a sweet scent of something rotting.
“… and how do you know it’s human?”
The old man scratched his unshaven chin, closed his watery eyes but remained silent.
“… and you don’t look like a doctor”
“My name is Joe….”, sighing the old man remained sprawled on the wet concrete, patting his empty trouser-leg.
“I know it’s a femur, ‘cause last month I could walk on it”
He met Detective Constable’s gaze.
“I hate rats”
I don’t know what this story came from except I felt like doing a dialogue. I hope you don’t feel too sick, but life can be tough on the streets.
Friday Fictioneers is a blogging community lead be Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and this week it’s time to congratulate her for the TV interview. I’m quite busy this week but I will visit as many as I can throughout the weekend and the beginning of next.
March 9. 2016