Friday Fictioneers – Insurance



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.

“Sure. Thanks.”

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?”

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