it’s just popcorn, nothing else

As I walk out the front door of Target, I smell popcorn (What is this, a movie theatre? It’s annoying). In front of me, impeding my egress, is an old man pushing his cart with his hip because his hands are busy holding onto and digging into a bag of popcorn.

The door flies open, the wind catches his bag and popcorn cascades behind him as he makes his way across the parking lot (What is this, a ticker tape parade? It’s beautiful).



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Filed under aging, flash fiction, humor, Uncategorized, writing

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