At Least It’s Not A Bridge in Brooklyn

Jane and Marge met up in a coffee house in Clinton Hill, Vermont. They hadn’t seen one another in several months.

“So?” Marge arched an eyebrow over her cup of decaf. “Why did you want to see me?”

“It seems like we are both so busy traveling around the world that we never see one another any more. Don’t you miss the old times?” Jane smiled ingratiatingly.

“No,” Marge said bluntly.

“I’ve got the perfect solution.” As usual, Jane ignored her. “We should buy a house together. You provide the down payment and I’ll provide the sweat equity. I know just the place….”

Marge set down her cup, picked up her purse, and walked away.

The Hub: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Photo credit: Jean L. Hays