Deep Fried
by Elizabeth Marshall
Jack's cell vibrated: text from Frank.
*Too hot. Rain check please?*
*No,* Jack sent back. The heat was the very reason Jack had suggested a dinner picnic. Their small walk up with no AC was sweltering.
He'd told Frank to keep it simple: fried chicken, fruit, a bottle of Prosecco and a bar of chocolate.
Almost too hot to move, certainly too hot to walk to the park, Frank nevertheless shoved his freshly fried chicken into their hamper and drooped downstairs.
KFC next time, Frank swore, forcing himself along, knowing he'd find his butt deep fried if he didn't show.
No comments:
Post a Comment