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Weekly Contest #132
“Are you there, God? It’s me.” Once – now it seemed a lifetime ago – he’d knelt in this very same spot and felt a visceral connection to Him. An ebb and pull, just like the tide. A primitive force. “- How’s she cutting?” That sounded ridiculous. He wasn’t ringing up some old, near-forgotten relative for a chat. He’d not bumped into Him, by chance, in SuperValu- doing his numbers for the Lotto. He exhaled, rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jawline. “The thing is… you’ve been distant lately, and…” Shite, now it sounded like he was ...
Weekly Contest #131
Midday. A forgotten cigarette curled bluish-hot smoke from its perch in a faded melamine ashtray, while a persistent fly played toccata e fuga with Gennaro’s bushy lughole. He didn’t wince, concentrated as he was. Next to him, Mario, aka “O Capitano”; across the table, Piero “O Communista” Esposito, and on his right, the one whose name no-one ever recalled – he usually answered to Lorenzo, would also accept Vincenzo, but generally went by Coso (Thingy.) Gennaro exhaled as he played his hand; with an almost boy-like glee he scooped up the S...
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