PHOTO PROMPT © KRISTA STRUTZ
I can smell the end of the season, a mixture of sunblock and stale beer.
Chuck has become evasive; “Busy”, he texts.
There’s no sign of him yet at Sol’s Bar. Good. I smile at Rob.
“Buy you a drink?” he suggests.
We’re laughing over our third beer when Chuck appears.
“Beat it,” he snarls at Rob, who looks questioningly at me.
“It’s okay, Rob. Thanks for the beers.”
I turn to Chuck.
“So it’s Florida for the new season?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Little bird told me.”
“Yeah! I was meaning to say. You wanna come?”