argene

Short - short fiction.
Fucking car stopped twice. The cab came when it said it would, manuevering between four lanes of traffic where the car had stalled, a metal ship full of hot air and bo. No air conditioning. Asphalt swallowed by boredom gnawing at the corners of mind. Gray taffy stretched out before sinking sun red, gold, mellow. Airless, no clouds moving. Rustflakes floating up from the tracks like soiled snowflakes. The ride wasn't over yet.