Well King, Seems This Case Is Closed.

in Flash Fiction

“It reads like a manifesto. No damn money in a mission statement. Principals don’t pay the rent. We rob the banks Viva la Revolución!” And then she lit a cigarette from the orange flame of her dwindling one.

“While you’re practicing your tobacco pilates, I’ll try to better channel Ronald Reagan to your liking,” I said. And one of the thugs snickered, just before his forehead exploded. And that bully to his right went down like a rag doll.

She ran, until three rounds rained down a few feet in front of her path.

“Stop In The Name Of The Law,” I yelled. And laughter mixed with the smell of cordite, as I cuffed the chain smoker in plastic ties.

And the rookie was quick to cough up a hundred bucks to satisfy the wager that I would indeed; stoop to crime fighting cliché.

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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