The Friendly Skies
Elliot spun his wedding ring on his finger idly. If you had asked him six months ago, he’d never imagined he’d be here. On a 737, staring at the stupid passengers. Seething. He hated them all. He had already counted seven kids. Seven screamers. He was grinding his teeth.
But, at least he got to travel. His wife hated flying, so they never went anywhere. Even one night in an exotic locale was better than the cube farm, too. The hours were better, anyway.
“Boarding complete. Cabin secure. Prepare for take-off.” Elliot grasped the intercom so hard it nearly shattered.
Pancake Social
It’s customary to show up to at least one of your opponent’s fundraisers. I figured if I had to suffer, I might as well get some pancakes out the deal.
I’ve been working in this city for 24 damn years, clawing my way on up. I’ve served on every shit-can board. Assessors. Conservation Commission. This little twerp? He’s shooting for mayor to boost his inevitable Senate run.
So when she screamed, “The baby is yours, Mike,” I couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. That blonde with the legs just walked out of the VFW along with his political career.