Friday Fictioneers #52: I’m exactly similar myself.


What the hell are you doing out there in the rain?

She was calling to him from inside. She’d stepped from the shower, was towelling her hair.

You like the rain?

He glanced back, then leaned on the banister, shook droplets from his hair.

Yeah, he said.

I’m exactly similar myself.

He lit a cigarette, smoked, shivered.

You’re smoking again?

Seemed like a good day to start.

So what’s out there?

Not much. A U-haul trailer. One of those Tony Soprano cars. Traffic circle. Lights. Weather.

No penguins?


Do you think we’ll ever see them again?

I don’t know.


3 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers #52: I’m exactly similar myself.

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