Twisted Fiction Press

Good Old Dave

by on Feb.16, 2009, under Uncategorized

Dave needed to talk to someone so he took out his thing. This was always a good conversation starter—his thing—flashed at the girls from the bushes and behind bins around the station. It was often the only way to get them talking, Dave found, and Dave didn’t mind a good chat. But this girl was different and he could tell that from day one. He flashed it at her once, twice, but she never stopped. Just kept right on walking, looking neither right nor left, but not quite straight ahead either. It was driving him crazy. So one rainy morning he grunted at her to make her stop and look at him or look at IT at least and scream perv or flasher which were, after all, acknowledgments better than none. At his grunt, she did stop. But then all she said with wonky eyes staring at nothing (or maybe something) was “who’s there?” Punched her white stick in the air like a wand. Dave could see no fear in her those crazy deepset eyes, and in the rain-spattered tilt of her face, only a simple curiosity:
“Who are you ?” she said.
So Dave, naked then and exposed before god, was finally able to put away his thing.
“I am Dave,” he said.


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