Walking Into The Wind

This entry is part 11 of 16 in the series MicroFiction

He chugged another beer, crushed the can and dropped it to the pavement with a hollow clunk.

“How much you ganna drink tonight, baby?” Suzette said, slumped down in the passenger seat of his black 72 Nova, half asleep with her own nights consumption.

“Til I ain’t gotta think about it no more,” he said. “Cuz that shit… That shit just ain’t right!”

“Thaas right!” she said, pumping a fist into the air and punching the roof of the car instead.  “Owww!” She brought her hand to her mouth, sucked a knuckle for a moment and then started looking for a cigarette, shaking each of the dozen cigarette packs in the front of the car until she found one that contained some smokes.

“I see that guy, Suzette,” he said as he cracked open another beer.  “I see that guy, he’s dead!”

“Maybe you should just try and forget about it,” she offered.  “Let’s just go the fuck home.”

He chugged the beer, crushed the can and dropped it to the pavement with a clink-clunk as it deflected off of it’s discarded brother.

“Ain’t right,” he said. He half-turned in a stagger and let out a belch. He looked at Suzette.  She was asleep in the car, head back and breathing the quick, heavy breaths of the intoxicated. He staggered some more, this time towards the car like he meant it.

And he did.

Fucking mimes.

Well, this went nowhere very fast.

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