Surely, he’ll fall.
He doesn’t.
He rides over a break in the concrete where a weed is growing. Those microscopic remnants within the crack are all that weed will ever need to get by.
Friday Flash Fiction |
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An old man cycles down a side street on an overcast day. Both hands on bar, a cigarette between his teeth, a paper bag hanging out of his pocket. The wheels creak like a heavy wooden door opening on tight hinges. His bike could fall to pieces at any given moment (so could he). The rusty vehicle is clunky, wobbly and too big for him.
Surely, he’ll fall. He doesn’t. He rides over a break in the concrete where a weed is growing. Those microscopic remnants within the crack are all that weed will ever need to get by.
Jennifer Duncan
7/1/2022 07:34:30 pm
I like the analogy to the weed growing in the crack, subsisting on hardly anything.
Sue Clayton
8/1/2022 01:22:39 am
I'm always surprised by the places where weeds can spring from. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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