New Orleans never looked so good or smelled so bad. Fat Tuesday was never fatter. The beers were never bigger and I was drunk, and getting drunker.
The crowd was crushing, yet somehow I made my way to the Tippatina bar. There was a cute girl between me and the entrance to the bar. Dark and petite; I fell in love the moment I saw her.
“Here,” I said as I tossed her a bead necklace. One of a bunch I had bought from the kid down the street. So far every toss had been a success. I expected the usual response. I also hoped she would fall in love with me.
“Thanks,” she said, “but no thanks.” She tossed them back.
“Hey! I thought I was supposed to get a flash for the beads.”
She looked me up and down. I worked it. I smiled my biggest smile and said, “I’ll flash you.” With that I lifted my t-shirt to expose one nipple. Her expression clearly showed she had no interest.
“Honey,” she said, “you’re suffering from flash fiction!”
Joseph Freeman lives in Central Florida.
