The man at the window of the pharmacy pick up has been drinking. He’s rosy, and jovial, and must be pushing eighty even if he does have a fine crop of grey under his Stetson.
“So, they let you out,” the pharmacist says warmly.
“Yep. Don’t know what the fuss was about. Just me and my brother arguing.”
“Must have been the gun you waved,” the pharmacist says, still smiling.
The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.
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