There’s always a reason

There’s always a reason

Slammed into a cell with a whistling drunk, I couldn’t remember if there was a reason to go back.
“You best figure it out it boy,” the judge said.

 

But I didn’t.

 

And now, thirteen months, eleven days later, all I have is the dirt on my boots, my car and the dice hanging from my rear view mirror––the ones you gave me before telling me to go.

2 Comments
  • Andrea parrella
    Reply

    Love these photo stories!

    November 10, 2016 at 9:09 pm
  • Sarah van Praag Leonard
    Reply

    nice flash fiction

    November 10, 2016 at 10:35 pm

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