Griff was not a quitter. That’s what he usually told people about a day before he quit. Like now at the bar where he’s telling people about how those other people forced him to quit back at the rendering plant. Made him quit a perfectly good union job no less.
Jane nursed her vodka and cranberry juice listening to this loser at the other end of the bar going on and on about all the injustices done him. She knew the type. She also could practically do a countdown to him summoning the barmaid and smiling that smile. The smile that said it knew things about her. God, would she never tire of making that smile a liar? In a word, no.
She glanced up at the clock, figuring exactly how long she had to waste on this dolt and then nodded.
When Griff came to the next day, he couldn’t tell if it was first light or last light. What in the ever-loving hell? He tried to sit up and abandoned that idea right quick when his head did that balloon thing. Ok. Ok. First question: where was he? This was not his room. Second question: was he alone? Looked like it. Moving cautiously, he managed to sit upright and determine that the pants he was in were indeed his. Finally some good news. He looked around. Motel room. Not too cheap, not too nice.
He looked at his bare wrist before panicking. Wallet: empty. Bottle on the desk: empty. The scraps of paper he dug out of his pockets told part of the story of what had happened. Three ATM slips for $150 time-stamped 4pm, 9pm, and 10:45pm and a taxi receipt for $18.25 time-stamped 11pm. And a receipt from some liquor store.
Damn. He’d even bought the fucking booze.
Post-cancer Jane was a very different woman than pre-cancer Jane. Once she was out of the hospital and off the chemo there wasn’t much this woman was missing. She did miss Chris’s funeral. She didn’t have time for missing anything else.
She figured the clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before whatever it was eating her insides got hungry again.
That loser, Grant? Gary?, being slick with the little ATM trips but it was that pay envelope “hidden” in his sock that made the night a real jackpot. He must have thought he’d scored him some high-priced tail for sure this time. Higher priced than he’d planned, though. She counted out a nice fat stack of twenties and settled back to enjoy the cab ride to the train station. Like Daddy always used to say, don’t be shitting where you sleep, kid. The train ride back home was pleasant and the bath she ran for herself when she got there, heaven. Gary’s little windfall would tide her over nicely for another couple of weeks.
She’d call work in the morning and say she needed more time. They were so understanding.
© Remington Write 2020. All Rights Reserved.
In August 2020, AleXander Hirka set himself the challenge of creating a daily digital collage based on an image and a concept. The image is that of the antique Omega watch that belonged to his Mom and the concept is Time. In September 2020, the Anomalous Duo is challenging themselves to write a short piece of fiction for each collage — the Our Hours project.