My second Friday Fictioneerssubmission this week. Not sure if that’s bad form but I wanted something less frivolous to complement my other story. This began as a poem but I couldn’t sustain the structure.
Photo Copyright Claire Fuller
Rosie takes a drag on the cigarette; it smoothed out the lines around her mouth. For a moment, she looks her age. She exhales, stomps last year’s boots on the asphalt floor.
“There’s layoffs at the steelworks,” she says, “Not looking good for the factory”
She’s right. There’s been no overtime in months; the town’s dying around us. Nobody needs overalls, anymore. I give this place a year at most.. I’m thirty-nine, too young to be on the scrap heap.
I light another. Soon, I might not be able to afford to smoke. For now, though, it gets me through.