Ficlets

I’d applied for jobs everywhere. Hundreds of resumes littering hundreds of waste paper baskets.

Who wants to hire a 64 year old white guy? Youth sells, not wrinkles.

So what if I was a mathmatical genius; the only thing being gifted ever got me was the thrill of winning $280,000 at Vegas six months ago. Then, of course, I lost it. Every penny.

Now I had nothing except a bullet wound to show for it. But at least I was still alive.

I cradled the Smith & Wesson .45 in my lap and kept my eye on the road. What was that up ahead?