I pulled down the hood of my jacket, trying to keep my glasses free from rain. The wind from the harbor brought scents of mud and salt; far away the foghorn wailed.
I was late again.
The lure of warmth and booze pulled me into “The Ole Anchor”.
“The usual”, I blurted to the blonde barkeeper.
“Not today”, she said, glancing to my left.
I felt a small warm hand snuggling into mine…
My daughter Laura.
“Ma said, you’d be here”.
“What’s the rush sweetie, just one drink”.
“No Papa, we need money for potatoes and the rent”.
I saw the umbrellas and thought of rain in the town I grew up in. Definitely not a place for umbrellas though as they are quite incompatible with rain. I will try to be quicker in responding back this week, it’s been quite busy with a lot of poetry to be written.
Friday Fictioneers have simple rules, look at the picture, get a story from it and limit yourself to 100 word. Rochelle selects the picture and writes a story… visit and learn something about differences between British and American English.
September 19, 2018