Another flash fiction contest from the fantastic Janet Reid that I should have posted earlier:
100 words or fewer, using:
I held my sweating cocktail glass to my face, then scrubbed my cheeks with a bar napkin.
“Delightful. The old double kiss. Is he Eurotrash or a gangster?”
“Neither. He plays artist so he doesn’t have to sully his lily hands with actual work.”
“He doesn’t want to whack me?”
“No, just couch-surf you. He’s kind of a rent boy. Scammer.”
“Died in a fire in Jersey.”
“Hmm. My dungeon is short a slave. Won’t the artiste be surprised?”
We laughed and fixed our lipstick. I sent the poseur a drink. Patience. Patience. Sharks circling bait.