I half-watch the game, NFL wildcard, mostly commercials. My brother texts: Michelob. Yesterday’s argument lingers.
He arrives with the beer. We sit. Memories. A family thinned to two.
Once hungry, never full.
Once poor, always poor.
Next day he texts me again: Molson, mañana. I agree.
Beer. Brother. Good enough.
John Szamosi is a wordsmith and peace activist. He’s been publishing short stories, satires and poems since his freshman year in college.
Momma won at penny slots and sent me to the vending machines for dinner. Pepsis. Fritos. Twinkies. Tomorrow we’d be back in the Chevy with no heat and the smell of burning brakes that reminded me of Dad. But tonight Alf was on TV, and Momma was coloring her hair.
Jeff Harvey writes short fiction. His work is in/ soon to be in Bending Genres, Blink-Ink, MoonPark Review, and others. He’s on Twitter at @JeffHarveySD.
Smells of dinner float out from the trailer parked behind Safeway. Music and voices sound. On a patch of green grass, a child plays, counting daisies. Inside, her parents count crinkly dollars; hoping there’s enough for paper towels, Cheerio’s, a battery-operated desk fan to get them through summer.
Lisa Marie Lopez has been published in a variety of literary journals and venues including Blink-Ink and The Ocotillo Review. She loves coffee, quiet walks, and animals.
She’s handing out samples of frozen dinners that never taste this good when reheated at home. Hanging around for seconds and thirds, the growing gathering of strangers tries to make a meal out of giveaways. Tongues tied in awkwardness, silently questing for the elusive secret ingredient, no one dares ask.
Lee DeAmali resides in Los Angeles.