Fingers and Machines
I hate carrying this thing around everywhere. I don’t find it disgusting, but it lends itself to awkward conversations. I go to the casino, the largest building in my town that isn’t a town anymore. I spend my time there, playing the slot machines: ting ting, ting, ting, ting, ting (it’s like losing every time). Winning and drinking and losing and drinking, I order cocktails for women who won’t go home with me. After a bad streak, I go to the ATM and pull out my keychain with the memento of my former business partner. I put it on the reader: beep, beep, beep (it’s like winning every time). I throw away the ticket without checking the balance. I’d rather not know. When it’s over, it won’t be a bad thing. I will not have to carry an embalmed finger everywhere and I’ll use my own fingers, which only make me lose money.
Author Notes: I've never been a big fan of the flash fiction subgenre, but it's been a nice exercise to keep myself writing more consistently. I hope you enjoy! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated.
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