1982, art school: Sandra scored two tickets to the sold-out Haircut One Hundred concert, nonchalantly telling her best friend Fern “I blew someone who knew someone.” Seriously? All that mandibular effort for that group? “Practice makes perfect,” Sandra remarked with more nonchalance.
They attended the concert, having what they would later call, with a thermonuclear soupçon of sarcasm, “a rather pleasant time, yes indeed.”
Sandra would end up working as a sales manager at a high-end furniture store. She’d weep on 9/11 upon finding out Fern (a residential property field appraiser) had died that morning (from pancreatic cancer in Tallahassee).
●
Yo, DVM here. Thank you for tolerating the almost ten-thousand words of flash fiction I’ve written so far. Starting next time, the Flasher format will change. Tell your family and friends and total strangers and random opened energy-drink bottles and random unopened energy-drink bottles. (These four sentences don’t count as part of the above story.)
Copyright © 2021 by David V. Matthews
DAVID V. MATTHEWS 