Making a living cleaning other people’s houses is bad enough; having to shift so much junk before you can even start the job is the icing on the frigging cake.
“It all means something special to me,” the old girl would whine.
It meant a whole lotta ass-ache to me.
So I thieved a piece each week; different stuff, nothing she’d miss, stuff from the back shelves. And the job got done quicker.
She said she’d remember me in her will.
Sure did – left me the rest of the junk.
“Because I know you coveted it…” she said.
Finding it hard these days to strike a different note with the Friday Fictioneers submissions – there’s been a same-ness about the themes, the ‘voice’. After all, I’ve been doing this for 10 years now! So a different voice this week – not a particularly pleasant one, but there you go. 🙂 Many thanks to Rochelle, our leader, who never seems to find herself without inspiration.