He took one long last look at the silo. This land sure wasn’t much to look at, but it had been his home.
Times were changing, though. He was alone now. It hadn’t rained for three years, and the irrigation wells had dried up. He could no longer afford to keep the silos idle.
Tomorrow the bulldozers would come, and a casino would be built. Everyone told him how lucky he was. He was a rich man; in theory, anyway.
He turned his back, eyes glistening, and climbed into the bus. He was homeless now.
— 95 words —
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less. This week’s challenge is based on Marie Gail Stratford’s photo above.