Leo
“Cut that out! It’s disgusting!”
I took another drag, the flame’s progress mirroring that of the encroaching tide.
“I’m having a melancholic moment,” I replied. “Like Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo and Juliet.”
He howled with laughter.
“Oh, so you Leo now? Motherfucker was 20 in that movie (not to mention the most beautiful twink who ever lived). Honey, you a 50-year-old queen who should know better. What’s the plan? Be sad forever? You tried that: shit happened anyway. Let’s have some fun. Tequila! I’m buying.”
“I’m 36,” I protested.
He ran off, cackling.
I trudged after him, still smoking.
Written in response to Friday Fictioneers, a weekly 100-word writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Come and play along!
Thomas Charles Henry 
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