Chloe was always doing that—changing plans last minute and expecting him to drop everything. He tossed the mobile onto the console. He had a job. He had deliveries. He still had to get from Ocean Gate to Fareham. Good thing he knew a shortcut down Wickham Road and could bypass the road-works.
Past Fontley Road, his mobile chimed once more: Can you meet me at Europa? Which was out of the question. He’d been in the lorry for six hours straight and she meant for him to drive all the way out to Avon?
He snatched up his mobile and scrawled the answer with one thumb: Why do u always—
That’s when he saw the push-bike. And felt the sickening thud.
This has been an edition of Sunday Photo Fiction brought to us by Al Forbes. To read more flash fiction or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:
Author’s note: I recognized generally where this was and wanted to give the proper dose of setting and scene via the appropriate vernacular. But, being American, I’m afraid I overshot in some respects and failed miserably in others. So I think they only thing that could fix this is an all-expense paid trip to Exeter and Portsmouth. Which I am willing to do. In the name of literature and improving my craft. 😉