Aaron sells watches on the beach.
He proudly totes an aluminium briefcase stuffed with his wares, his arms wreathed in watches both ‘new’ and ‘used’.
Aaron knows everything there is to know about time; he should… he’s done some.
He sells to the dusties, who’re stealing time with pills and potions…
… to druggies, living on borrowed time…
… to chancers, making time with the local girls…
… and drifters, wasting it.
Today Aaron and I stroll beside a stinking, crimson sea, kicking bleached fishbones beneath sickly green skies.
“No watches today?”
“We’ve run out of time,” he says.
101 words this week; I had one left over from last week, if you remember. I hope Friday Fictioneers can see the link between the photo and this story. And I hope I don’t get sued for it… 🙂 You can never be too sure these days. You can, however, be sure that our gracious hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields will be presiding over our court today. Thanks Rochelle.