Down Highway One

© Ron Pruitt
They were the last party to enter. They looked happy, but as they overviewed the seats and started to stroll backwards, speaking in some foreign language I didn’t understand, their smiles faded. Almost every seat was taken, and I knew that it inevitably would affect me. Of course I should have offered myself to change seat, and though I realized this was not the ideal moment to practice “not always be so damned accommodating”, I did not act. One of them ended up in front of me and when she turned and asked me, I did not flinch.

This is my third participation in the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Helene

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