The decrepit old man looked up in wonder at the shelf of glass bongs. Warmth surged through his body. “These are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“They are handmade collectables,” she nodded.
He smiled at her, “You’re a lovely woman. What did you say your name was?”
“Sarah,” she said patiently, taking his hand.
He took another toke and sat back with a grin. “I’m not going to be able to get home now,” he giggled.
She laughed, watching him. After a lifetime of bitterness and hard work, her dying father finally knew mirth.
== 96 words ==
Thank you, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple, for hosting Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words or less. Everyone is welcome to participate in Friday Fictioneers by writing your story and connecting it with the blue froggy button below.